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siren-queen-imagines · 5 years

Text

Misunderstandings

This was requested by the lovely @fallinforhappiness! I hope you enjoy! Considering I had already done similar prompts for Damien, I chose to do them with Shayne this time!

Prompts Used: 9. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” 15. “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”

Masterlist

(gif by me)

=================================

Shayne watched you from across the room at the Smosh office, smiling to himself as you were laughing with Courtney. Your smile was so beautiful and so infectious to him. If only he could find it in him to actually tell you that.

Your friendship meant the world to him. Shayne realized that he had feelings for you about a couple months after you guys met. The more he got to know you, the more his feelings grew for you. He knew he needed to tell you how he felt soon because he just needed to know if you might feel the same way.

“Yo, Shayne.” Damien called to Shayne, breaking him from his daydream. “Jesus, I’ve been trying to get your attention for 20 minutes.” He exaggerated with a knowing smile.

“Sorry, I was trying to think of how to finish this.” Shayne motioned to the computer in front of him.

“Come on, man, we both know that’s a lie. You were watching Y/N.” Shayne looked over to you to see if you heard Damien. “Don’t worry, she didn’t hear me. When are you gonna tell her?”

Shayne sighed and scrolled through the script page open on his computer.

“I don’t know.”

“Look, as a fellow anxiety sufferer, I get it. It’s feels scary.”

“It’s different with Y/N, and I don’t know why. Normally I could find it in me to at least ask for a date but I just--”

“It’s normal to really like someone and fear rejection. It a basic human fear. But you know you’re gonna have to tell her if you want to see where things go. She won’t be single forever.”

“I know.”

Damien stood up, patting his friend on the shoulder before he left the office to get some coffee from the kitchen.

“Hey Damien.” You greeted with a smile on your face as you went into the fridge.

“How’s it going?” Damien smiled back at you.

“Not too bad. I can’t complain. How are you?”

“Pretty good. Just trying to get that next sketch finished with Shayne.”

“Speaking of Shayne...is he okay? He’s just seemed a little spacey and frustrated earlier.”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine. He’s dealing with some stuff right now.”

Damien took a moment to really think if he should say what he wanted to say next. Maybe if he told you about Shayne you would take the pressure off his best friend and if you felt the same, you could ask Shayne out instead. Or he could make it look like this was all his doing because in reality, he was right now.

“So, hey, I was thinking about setting Shayne up with someone.” Damien continued casually, making his coffee the way he liked it. “Would you hate me for saying that I think you would be good for him?”

“Really?” You replied in surprise. “That’s big coming from his best friend.”

“Yeah, of course you. I think you would be good for him.”

“I don’t know...I don’t think he would see me as more than a friend.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Damien paused when he realized what he blurted out. Crap. He already kinda sorta spilled the beans. Well...that didn’t take long at all. Sorry Shayne...so so sorry.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

Wait, wait...was that hope Damien heard in your voice? Oh god, please. Please let it be. Despite possibly blowing this for Shayne, he really did mean it when he said that he thought you would be good for him. He still ended up sighing because he felt bad that he let the secret halfway out of the box...and was about to let it all out.

“Okay, look…” Damien put his coffee down on the counter. “He’s probably gonna kill me but he loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Love? Wow, how long has he been holding out on you?

“He loves me?”

Oh goddammit, Damien. Did you have to use the ‘L’ word? That’s it, no more coffee for him because apparently he didn’t start messing up until he drank any.

“How long has he had these feelings for me?” You asked.

Honestly, wow. You did not see that coming. You felt butterflies in your stomach and hope filled your heart. You had the biggest crush on Shayne and sometimes you swore it was obvious but maybe you hid it well enough to go undetected.

“Long enough.” Damien relented, deciding there was no point in hiding it. “I know he thought you were cute when you guys met but the longer you guys got to know each other…”

You nodded, understanding where he was going. You lightly smiled when you thought of the timeline because it matched up to yours.

“Can you let me talk to him? Like, don’t mention this conversation to him?” You smiled at Damien softly.

“Definitely.”

OH thank god. He didn’t mess this up.

“Thank you, Damien. Seriously.”

=================================

You waited to talk to Shayne. You didn’t want it to be obvious you had talked to Damien about it so time was important. You didn’t want to unintentionally rat out Damien.

Currently, you and Shayne were the only ones at the office at the moment. Damien and Courtney were both filming and you two weren’t expected on set for at least another hour.

“No, I think we can add that here.” Shayne told you, pointing to the paragraph on the page and moving his finger up halfway.

“Yeah, the joke would land better there.” You agreed, cutting the paragraph and pasting it back.

You looked over to Shayne. Maybe now would be a good time to talk to him about what Damien told you last week. You both had managed to finish sooner than expected so you had some free time.

“Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” You added before looking back to the computer, hitting the save button.

“Sure, what’s up?” Shayne asked, curiosity in his tone.

“I, uh--” Oh no...the nerves were kicking in. Why? Damien said Shayne had feelings for you so what are you nervous? “This may sound like it’s coming out of left field but I like you, like, really like you.”

Shayne’s heart started beating what felt like a million miles a second...you...you had feelings for him too?

“And I feel like I needed to say something because I didn’t want to possibly regret not telling you.”

“Y/N…” Shayne started, his nerves getting the best of him. Wait, what the hell? You basically did the hard work but he still had a rough time with it? “I--I don’t feel the same way--” WAIT WHAT? SHAYNE WHAT WERE YOU DOING?”

You heart sank...was Damien wrong? I mean, why would he lie about something like this? Did even Damien misread things? You took a shaky breath in and nodded.

“It’s okay. I understand.” You began to grab your things...you just needed to get out of there.

“Y/N, wait…” Shayne tried to stop you.

“I’ll see you on set, yeah?” You smiled at him sadly.

“Y/N--”

You were already out the door before he could correct himself.

=================================

“Are you serious?” Damien asked Shayne.

“I don’t know what happened, I panicked and that’s what came out.” Shayne said.

“Oh Shayne--”

“I know, I know.”

“You need to make this right.”

“How? I don’t think she wants to talk to me right now. I just hurt her feelings.”

“You can fix it by straightening up the misunderstanding. You do it or I will.”

“Look, I’ll give it until tomorrow.”

“Why wouldn’t you wanna try now?”

“Because like I said. She wouldn’t want to talk to me right now. She needs some space.”

Damien shook his head and before he could just ignore what Shayne said, they were called to set...unfortunately there wasn’t a chance for them to talk after that.

=================================

Turns out you had a date the next night with a friend of Courtney’s and Shayne didn’t take to that very well. You decided to work from home that day so he couldn’t fix it or he can at least tell you why you couldn’t go out on that date.

Thing was, you decided not to go out on that date. You decided it would be best to stay home and sort out your feelings instead of acting on a bad impulse. It wouldn’t be fair to Courtney’s friend if you chose to go out with him because you were hurting after what happened with Shayne.

You were watching Schitt’s Creek on Netflix when your phone rang. You paused it and grabbed your phone seeing Shayne’s name on the Caller ID. Should you answer? Yeah. Of course. It could be important because normally he’d just text you.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Y/N…” Shayne voice sang on the other line, followed by a laugh. “Oh Y/N...yer so beauful.” He slurred.

“Are you drinking, Shayne?”

“No, no. I finished. Im callin cause Damimen--Damin--Damien? Yeah Damien said to. He hope you can give us a ride home.”

“Why can’t he?”

“He doesn drink much...but he did wif me so he cant drive.”

“Where are you?”

=================================

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Damien said from the passenger’s seat. He wasn’t as drunk as Shayne but he had enough to keep him from driving.

“It’s okay, Damien. Better this than you guys driving home.” You replied with a small shrug. “So thanks for being responsible and not getting yourselves hurt or killed.”

“Y/N…” Shayne called from the back seat. “I messt up.”

“It’s fine, Shayne.” You couldn’t help but smile. Drunk Shayne was new to you and it was funny.

“Nooo...no s’not. I really like you.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me half to death.”

Damien smiled in shock as he looked towards Shayne. Finally. Also, he managed to get that out with a slur. Impressive. He then looked over to you to your shocked face as well.

“Wh--why didn’t you just say that yesterday after I told you how I felt?” You asked as you turned to face him at the red light.

“I panicked. I been waitin to hear that then I said what I said. M’sorry.”

These past 24 hours have been a rollercoaster on your emotions. But in a sense, it was worth it because Shayne fucking felt the same way. It was happening. You quickly wiped at the tears brimming your eyes as you turned to face the stop light, a small smile on your face.

==================================

“Hey.” Shayne greeted you when you answered your front door, nervous smile on his face.

“Hey. Come in.” You said, moving aside so he could come in.

“Thanks for last night. I’m so sorry about you dealing with drunk me.”

“Drunk you was hilarious. But how are you feeling?”

“Well, I woke up feeling like I was hit by a bus but I’m slowly getting better.”

“Good.”

“So about last night. I meant what I said. And I’m sorry I made you believe that I didn’t like you back.”

“It’s okay. Really, Shayne. I got into my own head and didn’t let you finish.”

“It’s not your fault.” Shayne took a step closer to you and took your hands in his. “I’m just glad to know you feel the same way about me. With that being said, can I take you out tonight?”

“Of course you can.”

You couldn’t help but close the gap between the two of you and lean in. Shayne met you halfway, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss.

#smosh imagine #shayne topp x reader #shayne topp imagine #shayne topp

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ghost-in-the-hella · 4 years

Note

19 with Victoria Chase and Chloe?

For whatever reason, I can’t seem to keep chaseprice stories short! Sorry this took so long, but I hope it’s worth it. I also immediately thought chaseprice when I saw that prompt (“According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.”), so thanks for being on the same page with me there :) Unbeta’d and virtually unrevised despite how long it took me to write it, so please take it with a grain of salt.

Content warnings for misogynistic insults, underage drinking and drug use, and implied attempted sexual assault. Because teens in Arcadia Bay are awful to each other.

---

Chloe hasn’t seen Rachel since the first hour of the party. She stopped even getting texts from her about twenty minutes ago. She can already feel the familiar shapes of the argument they’re going to have tomorrow morning. Chloe will accuse Rachel of ditching her and ignoring her texts. Depending on how pissed she is, she might trot out the old dead horse about being abandoned by Max and flog that for a bit while Rachel fails to keep from rolling her eyes. Then Rachel will remind her about their agreement, that they’re both free agents and maybe if Chloe acted more like a free agent and less like a cuckolded wife she wouldn’t be so pissy all the time.

It’ll go back and forth for hours with Chloe whining about her abandonment issues and Rachel claiming that Chloe’s suffocating her, and at the end of it nothing will have changed. They’ll kiss and make up like they always do, but as soon as the next Vortex Club event comes around Rachel will insist on dragging Chloe and then she’ll ditch her in a crowd of people she hates and the whole cycle will start over again.

The whole thing is fucking exhausting, and Chloe’s sick of it.

Not as sick as Victoria Chase is, though; damn. It’s a hell of a sight: the Queen Bitch of Blackwell teetering drunkenly on ill-advised high heels - possibly only still on her feet because of the bodies of people dancing around her - and looking like she’s contemplating puking in her purse. She looks awful.

It would be more amusing if Rachel were there to make fun of her with Chloe. It would also be more amusing if it weren’t so painfully pathetic. Chloe’s way too sober to enjoy the sordid spectacle. Being the designated driver sucks ass, especially when the literal whole point of these parties is to get wasted.

Chloe almost jumps out of her skin when her phone suddenly - finally - buzzes in her pocket.

Rachel: U still at the party?

Chloe scowls at her phone.

Chloe: of fucking course i am

Chloe: where else would i be??

Chloe: im ur fucking dd

Rachel: o right! Srry I already caught a ride

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

Rachel: c u 2morro tho

Rachel: 2 whales date? Not 2 early tho

Rachel: this hangover’s gona be a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch

Rachel: luv u <3 <3 <3 xoxoxo

Rachel: xxx

Rachel: ;P

Chloe buries her phone in her pocket, fuming. She can actually feel the anger rising off of her skin like steam. Obviously there’s no reason for her to continue being a designated driver if Rachel’s already fucked off with whatever Blackwell jock or cheerleader she’s decided to rail tonight. Chloe’s free to crash on the couch tonight with the rest of the drunk losers. Pass out in the bathtub maybe. There’s tons of booze in the kitchen; she should start there. Stoners are usually in the basement; they shouldn’t be hard to sniff out. Maybe if she’s lucky she’ll find the folks who’re always doing coke in some random bedroom or office and score a noseful. It’s not like she’s got classes in the morning. She can afford to live a little, as long as she’s not actually paying for it.

Chloe starts to push her way through the crowd to the kitchen.

“Watschh where yrr fffuckin goin…” slurs a messy but recognizable voice as a hand grips Chloe’s upper arm.

Jesus Christ, Victoria’s even more wasted than Chloe thought at first glance. Her hand on Chloe’s arm might be the only thing keeping her upright at the moment, which is the only reason why Chloe doesn’t immediately tear herself away.

“Careful, Vicky; poverty might be contagious.” Chloe attempts to pry Victoria’s fingers from around her arm to no avail.

The idiot jock standing behind Victoria laughs at that, but Victoria just looks confused. And drunk. So very, very drunk.

“Ffffug you, Chhhloe,” Victoria slurs out.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Wow, you must be shitfaced. That was practically my real name!” She carefully shoves Victoria back off of her arm as the jock moves to steady Victoria by holding onto her waist.

“C’mon, babe,” he says, leaning close to her ear. He grins at Chloe and winks like he thinks she’s in on some kind of conspiracy with him, which immediately pisses Chloe off. “I’ve got it from here,” he informs her.

Victoria groans something inarticulate and tries to push the jock away, but she ends up just stumbling back into his stupidly broad chest. She really shouldn’t get so drunk and wear such high heels at the same time; clearly, it’s a dangerous combination.

“Dude, I don’t think she wants to go with you,” Chloe says as calmly as she can. She really doesn’t want to get involved. She wants to get drunk and stoned and so blitzed out of her mind that she forgets all about being pissed at Rachel. She doesn’t want to get sucked into whatever drama Victoria’s got brewing tonight. But she also really doesn’t want to watch a drunk girl get mauled by some entitled meathead, even if said drunk girl is a royal pain in her ass.

“Nah, she’s good. Just needs some fresh air. C’mon, Tori, let’s go for a walk.”

“Don’ ffffuggin call me Tori,” Victoria growls, tugging her arm out of his too-firm grip and nearly falling right off her ridiculous and undoubtedly overpriced heels. “Iss Victoria.”

The creep ignores her and tugs on her arm again, toppling her into his body once more. “It’s cool,” he attempts to assure Chloe. “We’re friends. I’ll get her home safe.”

“She definitely doesn’t want to go with you. Let her go.”

“Dude, be cool! She’s just being a bitch. You know what Tori’s like.” He holds Victoria’s wrists to curtail her squirming.

“Fuggoff!”

Chloe cracks her knuckles loudly enough to get the jock’s attention. “I’ve got better things to do with my left hand tonight than break it on your nose, but if you don’t unhand her in the next five seconds I’ll do it anyway.”

That gives the jock pause, but he doesn’t look like he quite believes her. “You wouldn’t.”

Chloe shrugs. “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask Logan why his nose slants to the right? Although he’ll probably lie. Ask his ex-girlfriend; she’ll tell you the truth.”

---

As Chloe guides a stumbling and incessantly bitching Victoria through the dark toward her truck, she silently curses every decision in her life that led her to this moment. It’s actually not that different from drunk-walking Rachel home after a party, except that when Victoria keeps touching her boob it’s probably accidental. Probably.

“Where’ss Nathan?” Victoria whines, head lolling onto Chloe’s shoulder and smearing a healthy quantity of expensive makeup into her favorite Firewalk shirt. Which is fine. Not like Chloe can’t just steal another one next time they have a 2010 tour. Time travel’s a thing, right?

“I have no idea where Prescock is. Surprised he’s not doing shots out of your cleavage.”

Victoria’s trying to text, but she keeps almost dropping her phone. “Where are theese bisches?” Victoria grumbles as her manicured fingers jab and swipe at the screen of her phone with the dexterity of a toddler with two handfuls of butter. “Sposdt to be my frens…”

Victoria’s entire focus is on her phone when it should really be on walking. Chloe tugs her upright and tries to steer her for the umpteenth time. “Can it wait til we’re in the truck at least?”

Victoria grinds to a halt and finally tears her eyes from her phone. “M’not gedding into that… that…” Victoria flails at Chloe’s truck and nearly falls over. “Deathtrap.”

“You had to get a tetanus shot to live in the dorms, right? You’ll be fine.” Chloe grips Victoria’s elbow with one hand to keep her upright and wrangles the passenger door open with the other. “Go on, get in.”

Victoria glares at Chloe foggily. “Are you khhidnappng me, Price?”

“...That’s a joke, right?”

Victoria whacks Chloe solidly in the sternum with her phone. “B’cause I’ll haf you know, my frens will put your assss in jail like that.” Victoria tries and fails to snap her fingers, then stares at them as if she cannot comprehend why they are not obeying her.

Chloe rubs at her sore sternum in annoyance. “Yeah, well, maybe your ‘frens’ should be the ones getting your drunk ass safely back to the dorms instead of abandoning you and letting random creepers paw at you. Then maybe I could get my drunk on in peace instead of wasting my weekend cleaning your puke out of my truck.”

Chloe’s expecting some pushback. Victoria hasn’t even touched her truck, much less puked in it. What she isn’t expecting is for Victoria to shove her phone in Chloe’s face. “You texx thm.” Victoria reaches for the door handle, yanks the door open, and unsteadily clambers into Chloe’s truck.

“Ow, what the fuck! You want me to text your friends?”

“Tell’m yer kidnappin me.”

“Uh, okay, no, I’m not doing that. But I can text your friends if there’s someone you’d rather get a ride with.”

Chloe carefully shuts Victoria’s door and walks around her truck to the driver’s side, thumbing through Victoria’s message history. She tries Nathan first, even though she can see that Victoria’s last ten messages to him have gone unanswered.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Nathan: whothFUCKisthis

Victoria: a good samaritan. seriously tho your friend is halfway to passed out, can you help?

Nathan: fuckoffBITCH

Victoria: god why does victoria even like you?

She tries Courtney next.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Courtney: I don’t know, can Victoria not call my boyfriend a MAN WHORE?

“We’re 0 for 2, Victoria. What’s the name of that blonde girl you’re always hanging around with?”

“Sweetie…”

“Um, what?”

“Goddddd you’re fuckn incomph-- incump-- incompetant. Sweet. T.”

“I have no idea what you’re-- Oh.” Jesus, the girl is literally in Victoria’s phone as Sweet-T. Gaaaaaaayyyy.

Victoria: hey victoria needs a safe ride back to the dorms. can you come get her?

Sweet-T: Victoria? Victoria Chase?

Sweet-T: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Sweet-T: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Sweet-T: Tell that bitch good luck.

Sweet-T: Actually wait don’t.

Sweet-T: Tell her to choke.

Sweet-T: Btw Taylor lost her phone.

“Uhh, looks like ‘Sweet-T’ lost her phone. And it’s fallen into the hands of someone who completely hates your pretentious ass; no big surprise there.”

Chloe starts texting Victoria’s contacts at random as Victoria sulks. Most people don’t even respond. The responses she does get are… not encouraging.

Zach: sup biiiiiiiiiiitttcccccccchhhhhh yeah i’ll give vicky a ride ON MY DICK

Hayden: new fone who dis

Brooke: Who is this and how did you get my number? Don’t ever text me again.

Dana: I gott a ride w Jules srry

Juliet: Already back at the dorms. Good luck I guess.

Logan: fukk that bisch wut

“Well, Victoria, looks like none of your friends are coming to help. So you can either let me give you a ride back to campus, or you can pass out on a couch inside and hope for the best.”

“What th hell djou say to them??”

“Just that you needed a safe ride to the dorms. That’s all.”

“Bullsshhhitt. You pissed them off.”

Chloe laughs out loud at that. “I pissed them off?? You pissed them off by being a gigantic asshole!”

“M’ noddan asshole.”

“Oh, no? Well…” Chloe holds up Victoria’s phone and waves it in front of her face. “According to this survey, most people agree you are, in fact, a gigantic asshole.”

Which is how Chloe ends up comforting a sobbing Victoria Chase in a stranger’s driveway and wishing she’d never been born.

---

Chloe: dude. Srsly. Fuck u for abandoning me at that fucking vc party.

Rachel: chloe?

Rachel: wat timesit?

Rachel: w happnd?

Chloe: its 3am

Chloe: and victoria FUCKING chase is passed out on me

Rachel: ur joking

Rachel: omg

Rachel: pls take a pic

Chloe: this isnt funny rach

Rachel: it’s fucking hilarious!

Chloe: its SAD.

Rachel: Wait so

Rachel: did you fuck her?

Chloe: WHAT????

Chloe: NO!!!!!

Rachel: Oh good bc I don’t think there’s enough bleach in the world to clean your soul after fucking victoria chase

Chloe: she’s drunk AF

Chloe: her friends ditched her

Chloe: and i kinda called her an asshole

Chloe: so she cried on my shoulder until she passed out

Chloe: and now i’m trapped

Rachel: Poor baby.

Rachel: Chew your arm off?

Chloe: not funny.

Rachel: Again, totally funny.

Chloe: Srsly tho, what should i do???

Rachel: idk

Rachel: sneak out?

Chloe: we’re in my truck

Rachel: hahahahahahahaha

Rachel: of course you are

Rachel: so wake her bitch ass up!

---

Victoria Chase snores. Nothing in the world could have prepared Chloe for that knowledge. She also drools, which is unfortunate for the state of Chloe’s jacket. Not that it’s the cleanest thing in the world anyway, but still. It’s the principle of the thing.

Victoria’s normally immaculate hair is in a state of total chaotic disarray. At least half of her makeup is gone, and what remains is smeared artlessly all over her face. She smells like a brewery. Chloe’s arm has fallen asleep under the weight of her head. Chloe envies it. The sweet release of sleep would be infinitely preferable to the intense awkwardness of being conscious right now.

The moonlight paints Victoria’s face in delicate shades of pale, highlighting the refined angles of her cheekbone, her jawline, her nose. She’s snoring and drooling and messy and the most utterly awful person; it shouldn’t be possible for her to be beautiful in this moment.

And yet. And yet.

Chloe should shove her awake. She should push Victoria off her shoulder, buckle up both of their seatbelts, and deposit her safely back at the dorms (because even though Victoria’s an objectively horrible person, that doesn’t mean that Chloe is). Chloe should abandon ship, let Victoria sleep it off in the front of her truck while Chloe returns to the party and drinks until she can’t remember what Victoria looks like in the moonlight. Maybe if she drinks enough, by the time she’s sober enough to drive Victoria will have sobered up and found her own way home.

Victoria makes a sleepy sort of grumbling sound and shifts against Chloe’s shoulder, draping an arm over Chloe’s middle and snuggling close. Her hair tickles Chloe’s neck and jaw as it sticks out at peculiar angles, and Chloe wants to laugh or possibly die. There’s really nowhere else for Chloe’s arm to go, so it ends up wrapped around Victoria. Victoria lets out a sound that’s disturbingly close to a contented sigh.

“Hey... Vic?”

“Mphgmhm?”

“Um… Are you aware that you’re cuddling me like I’m your long-lost childhood teddy bear?”

“Grhmphgm.”

“Uh. ‘Kay. Long as you know.”

“Mphkm.” Victoria nuzzles into Chloe’s shoulder, squeezing her tighter. Chloe awkwardly pats her side and Victoria sighs again.

“Hey, uh… I’m sorry about what I said before. I mean, not about you being an asshole, ‘cause I’m not gonna lie. But about your friends. I’m… sure your friends do like you, really.”

Victoria shrugs a little, frowning delicately. “Dsnmttr. Sleeb.”

Sleep. Okay. That’s theoretically possible. Chloe’s slept in more uncomfortable positions in this very truck, after all. So she closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of her seat, and she listens to the steady rhythm of Victoria’s breathing until the world begins to fade into a comforting void.

Shit’s going to be awkward in the morning. But, well. That can wait until the morning.

#writing prompts #prompt fill #chaseprice #life is strange #LiS #background amberprice #chloe price #victoria chase #rachel amber #fanfic

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 7 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: We can’t promise that this posting rate will continue forever, but for now, please enjoy! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The team scrambled to come up with ideas for the new Spring collection that would please their illustrious leader, and when they were out celebrating after the meeting, Pearl got a little too close for Violet’s comfort.

This Chapter: Violet makes a new friend, wakes up in a very compromising position, and deals with a massive hangover.

***

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Violet whispered to herself, reapplying her lipstick, making sure her lip liner was perfect even as her hand was shaking a little. Violet could hear her work phone, the familiar ringtone that meant Pearl was calling her.

She wanted to take it, wanted to accept the adventure Pearl was promising her, but Violet had hooked up with coworkers before, and that was a mistake she wasn’t eager to repeat.

Violet was drunk, and confused, this entire thing not at all what she had hoped and dreamed of for her and Pearl’s first kiss.

Besides the fact that they worked together, that Pearl was her friend, that she was one of the few human beings Violet actually genuinely liked, at the end of the day, Pearl was a player.

Everyone in the fashion world knew that.

There was not a lesbian or bisexual woman in the New York Fashion industry that didn’t have some kind of story about Pearl, Violet having listened to her fair share at parties, and she would never want to become one of those.

Their friendship was too important to her for that to happen. Stupid stupid stupid.

A gorgeous blonde girl stumbled out from the bathroom stall, humming to herself as she washed her hands. The blonde watched Violet apply her lipstick with rapt attention, then smiled, a thick Australian accent leaving her mouth.

“Wow…How do you do that? Your makeup looks like…sooo good.”

“Thank you?” Violet would normally be a little weirded out by this kind of attention from a stranger, but the girl was so beautiful and earnest that she only smiled back.

“I can’t wear red lipstick, but on you it’s...perrrfect,” she slurred.

“Everyone can wear red lipstick,” Violet stated.

“You think? Should I try it?” she asked, eyes lighting up gleefully.

“Umh…” Violet looked down at the lipstick in her hands. “Sure.”

But when the girl wobbled a little in her heels stepping forward, Violet had second thoughts--she was a little buzzed herself, but that girl looked far too drunk to do makeup on her own. It would likely end up all over her face if she tried.

“Know what. Let me help you,” Violet offered kindly.

“Oh wow, are you my fairy godmother?” she squealed, climbing up onto the counter.

Violet laughed at the other’s words, immediately feeling the kind of connection only two very drunk girls could.

“Maybe I am,” Violet giggled, as she began applying lipstick--not an easy task, given the blonde’s bubbly chatter, telling her all about how she normally only wore chapstick and mascara and wished she knew how to do winged eyeliner like Violet’s but could just never get the hang of it. But soon, Violet had done a satisfactory job, and leaned back to admire her work. If that girl was beautiful before, now she was absolutely stunning. “Um, whoever told you that you shouldn’t wear red lipstick should be killed.”

“Does it look good?!” the blonde asked excitedly, turning around to look in the mirror.

“You look gorgeous. Like, so pretty I can’t even deal with it,” Violet said nodding emphatically and realizing that she was maybe a little drunker than she previously thought. She certainly didn’t bond this much with strangers under normal circumstances. Of course, most strangers weren’t beautiful, charming blondes with adorable accents.

Shit, she really had a type when it came to girls.

“I love it! Thank you so much, fairy godmother!” she said, green eyes sparkling with joy. She turned back around and threw her arms around Violet’s neck.

Suddenly, the door burst open, startling them both.

“Courtney! There you are! You need to come back to the dance floor, bitch!” said a vaguely familiar voice. Violet turned around, trying to figure out where she knew the voice from.

“Adoooore! I’m getting my makeup done. Do you like it?” The blonde girl, now identified as Courtney, giggled, arms still around Violet, a huge smile on her face.

Adore? Realization suddenly dawned as Violet placed the face and voice.

Of course.

Adore was Bianca Del Rio’s little sister, and therefore someone Fame included in her close circle of friends. A musician of some kind and known party girl. And, if Violet was correct, she also knew Pearl somehow. It all made sense--what a small world.

Adore seemed to recognize Violet at the same time, big blue eyes widening with joy.

“Hey! It’s you! Violet, right?”

“Yeah, hi.” Violet smiled a bit shyly at her. She didn’t know Adore very well, but her closeness to Fame made Violet feel mildly self-conscious. Adore didn’t seem to have the same problem, throwing her arms around Violet as if they were best friends.

“Court, this is Violet. She works for Fame at Galactica.”

Courtney’s eyes bulged, and she clapped her hands together excitedly.

“She does?! Omigod how perfect! I just applied for a job as her assistant!” Courtney said.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me, bitch?” Adore demanded. “You know that Fame is practically like family.”

“Well, I applied for like 50 jobs this week; I just need anything that’ll let me stay. But I didn’t think I’d have any chance. I don’t have a lot of experience and I’m sure a million people applied. It’s Galactica .”

“So what?! You don’t need experience, you can do anything!” Adore turned to Violet, grasping her by the hand. “Violet, you need to help my girl get an interview. She’s amazing. She’s the most responsible person I know, and a really hard worker, and so smart.”

“Awww, bunny!” Courtney cooed, slinging an arm around Adore’s waist.

“Plus she really needs a job so that she can get a work visa.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be deported,” Courtney added solemnly.

“I know it’s kind of a weird problem for a white person to have, but there you go. And America is just soooo much better with her here.”

Adore buried her face into Courtney’s shoulder, hugging her tightly.

“Well, I’m looking over the résumés for the new assistant position. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll totally put yours at the top of the pile.” Violet found her drink on the counter and was just about to take a sip when Courtney jumped down, bouncing up and down excitedly.

“I swear I love you… Like I really honestly love you. I don’t remember your name just this second but you’re going in my gratitude journal, no, no, don’t laugh! And when I remember your name, I’m going to give it to my firstborn child!!” Courtney squealed, wrapping Violet in a neck-popping hug while hopping around in place.

“This is so beautiful,” Adore said. “I don’t know about you two hotties, but I’m ready to drink and dance some more, so the next round is on me! Let’s goooo!”

Violet let her new best friends drag her back out into the club and towards the bar, giggling the whole way.

***

“We gotta go, bunny,” Adore said, causing Courtney to whine.

“Nooo, I wanna dance some more,” she slurred, arms wrapped around Violet’s shoulders. “Me an’ Violet wanna dance.”

“I know, but Violet has to go home, too. Right?” Adore exchanged a look with Pearl, trying to extricate her friend from Violet, who swayed a bit in her heels, giggling and hiccuping. “Sorry, this one can’t hold her liquor for shit.”

Pearl laughed, putting her arms around Violet’s waist and pulling her gently from her new best friend.

“Seems that way,” she said.

“Say goodnight, Courtney,” Adore said.

“Goodnight, Courtney,” echoed the blonde sadly, looking over her shoulder with one final wave, then stumbling, nearly pulling Adore to the ground in the process. “Oops.”

Violet watched them, still giggling to herself, then allowed Pearl to guide her outside towards a row of taxis.

Pearl had never seen her hammered like this. Violet was a giggly, blushing, cuddly mess, and she had never been more adorable.

They were nearly inside the cab when Violet’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Pearl! Wait-” Violet grabbed for the door. “Wait wait wait wait.”

“What?” Pearl reached over her, grabbing her hand and furrowing her brow. “Are you okay?”

“Trixie!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Pearl we left Trixie behind!”

Pearl had to bite her lip not to smile, since Violet seemed genuinely distressed. “Trixie left with Katya and Max over 2 hours ago,” Pearl explained patiently. “He’s probably all snuggled up in his jammies, fast asleep.”

“Oh.” Violet’s shoulders relaxed as she slumped onto the seat. “Okay. That’s… That’s good.” Violet yawned a little, covering her mouth with her hand. “I wish I was wearing pajamas.”

This time, Pearl did actually snort. Violet was the only person she knew who could be near black out drunk, but still insisted on calling it pajamas.

“Do you?” Pearl couldn’t help asking, buckling her in. “What kind of pajamas?”

Violet gave her a sly smile, eyes half closed. “I’m not telling you that…”

Pearl laughed, shaking her head. Even drunk off her ass, Violet still managed to be more a mystery than not.

***

Trixie yawned as he made his way to the bedroom. He had brushed his teeth, swaying in place and humming to himself while he had done it.

Pearl hadn’t come home with them, Trixie was pleasantly tipsy, and he couldn’t wait to spend the night on some private time with his girlfriend.

Trixie opened the door, to see Katya who was standing by the mirror, brushing her blonde hair. She was perfectly sober, their eyes meeting in the mirror, and Katya broke into a giant smile.

“Hey cutie.”

“Hi.” Trixie couldn’t help but blush as he crawled onto the bed, the temptation to shake his ass too great to resist, and the move earned him a loud laugh from the woman he loved.

Katya was the beginning and the end of his world, and all he ever needed. He could listen to her all day, her laughs and giggles, her hyena fits and even when she snorted, all filling him with joy.

Trixie was more than ready to burrow into the pillows, and wait for Katya to finish her hair so she could come defile him, when he felt something that was horribly, horribly wrong.

One of the decorative pillows on the bed, the blue one, was all flat.

“Katya?”

“Mmh?” Katya was braiding her hair, her long fingers running through it.

“Did you wash the pillows?”

“Yes, isn’t it nice?”

“Mmmh..” Trixie picked the pillow up, gently trying to fluff it, to get it back to how it had been before Katya had thrown it in the washer but it was definitely dead.

“Shit.” Trixie whispered. He felt sad, the pillow one of his preferred companions on many a long night whenever he took “special” time with himself.

“What’s with the long face, sugarbutt?” Katya crawled onto the bed too, and Trixie could see that she was wearing nothing beneath her silk robe, the look in her eyes telling him that she was more than ready to fuck.

“I don’t have a long face, a round one, maybe, but not long.”

“You’re perfect.” Katya smiled, her hands gliding over Trixie’s scalp and grabbing what little hair he had, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. “Now come on, you’re drunk and I want a piece of you before you pass out.”

Katya smirked, and caught him again, the two of them falling back on the bed.

Trixie tried to enjoy the kiss, but he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t let go of the fact that their washed pillows were filling him with something that almost felt like annoyance.

“Katya?”

“Mmh?” Katya had practically crawled in his lap, her legs on either sides of him, his hands on her hips.

“It was my special pillow.”

“What?” Katya stopped, her face the perfect picture of confusion. “Your special pillow?”

“You know,” Trixie closed his eyes. He was pretty sure that sober him would never say this, but drunk him had no such problems, “for when you’re gone.. And I, you know, miss you…”

“Wha-”

Trixie could feel himself blush, his cheeks burning.

“Wait. You mean. Oh, oh, ooooooooh. Really?”

Trixie wanted to die, his insides feeling like hot liquid, the shame painful, but also so delicious, his cock growing fully hard, and he knew Katya could feel it.

“Show me.”

“… Show you?”

Katya nodded, the woman quickly getting out of Trixie’s lap, sitting against the headboard, her hand gently going over Trixie’s face.

“Please me sweet boy, and I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Trixie closed his eyes, his heart hammering away as he pushed down his pajama pants, the pillow stuffed underneath him by Katya.

Trixie wanted nothing more than to serve, making Katya happy the most important thing in his life.

***

Violet blinked, her brain feeling like it could run out of her ear the first chance it got. “Ow…” Violet tried to turn over to go back to sleep, but her body felt like it was made of stone.

“There’s water and painkillers on the nightstand, but you need to get ready because you have work in a few hours.”

Horror slowly washed over Violet’s whole body, turning her blood to ice, as she realized who the voice belonged to and that the bed she was in was definitely not her own.

“Oh no, no no no no.” Violet looked around, ignoring the hammering pain in her head.

Pearl was lying next to her in nothing but a cotton bra and panties, a smirk on her face. Violet looked down, slowly realising that she was wearing one of Pearl’s t-shirts, and that was when it hit her.

“Did we, oh god- Why am I wearing” Violet could feel her throat close up, panic clawing under her skin. “What happened- Pearl, did we- Did we… Did we have sex?”

“Wow.” Pearl raised an eyebrow, “Is the idea of fucking me really that terrifying, ViVi?”

“I can’t remember anything after Adore bought that last round of shots...”

Violet felt like she was going to have a full blown panic attack trying to figure out what happened after they left the club.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Violet. Relax, please.” Pearl reached out, gently petting Violet’s back. The sensation of Pearl’s palm - warm through the cotton of her t-shirt - was tantalizing, but Violet couldn't enjoy it at all.

“Nothing happened last night, I promise.”

“And why would I believe that?” Violet could feel tears threaten to fall, shame welling up in her stomach. “I wake up, and I can’t remember, you’re not wearing any clothes, I’m not in my dress- I’m not even in my apartment and I- I-”

Violet had to fight not to cry, not because she was disgusted at the idea that she had maybe slept with Pearl, but because she couldn’t remember anything at all. It was scary not to have any idea what she had done, but it was terrifying to think that she had wrecked her chance of a relationship with Pearl, or even worse, that she had ruined their friendship.

“Violet, listen to me.” Pearl turned Violet’s head so she could look her in the eyes, her thumb gently gliding over her cheekbone. “Nothing happened, I promise.”

Violet bit her lip, looking into Pearl’s blue blue eyes.

“I brought you here to help sober you up. I tried to give you some coffee without waking Katya and Trixie, but you passed out before I had the chance.”

Violet felt her throat relax, her breath slowly returning to normal.

“I undressed you since no one should sleep in Alexander McQueen.” Pearl smirked. “Imaging your horror if you had creased your dress.”

Violet snorted. “I guess…”

“And Violet-” Pearl smiled, grabbing her pillow and putting it back under her own head. “If we had actually fucked, I promise you would remember.”

Violet had to laugh at that, shaking her head at Pearl’s cockiness.

“You should probably start getting ready. I know your whole look probably requires a lot of primping, and it’s almost 6:30.”

“What?!”

***

Violet felt like a group of tiny dwarves had taken up shop inside her head, even the sound of her own nails on her computer keyboard too much.

Violet had rushed to work that morning, none of her usual calm present as she had practically verbally abused a taxi driver when he took a wrong turn. She had felt so bad she had thrown an extra ten dollars in his face, but the day had just gone downhill.

Thankfully Fame had been kind to her that morning, in an unusually sweet mood, not even commenting on the fact that Violet wore sunglasses indoors, even accepting the first breakfast with no complaints of the coffee being a little cold.

Alaska had called after lunch, her normal high pitched ‘hiiiiie’ feeling like a red hot poker forcing its way through her brain.

***

Fame was reading an email when Pearl came into the office, wearing sunglasses with shades the size of plates. Fame smiled; Pearl looked as bad as she knew Violet felt, and oh how she loved to see her pets get what they deserved.

“You sent for me, Miss.”

“Close the door.”

Pearl smiled, quickly obeying Fame.

“You’ve been a bad girl. Seducing my staff to go drinking on a weekday, paralyzing my poor assistant.”

Pearl snorted, a cheek grin on her face.

“Did you know that Violet gave me her own coffee this morning,” Fame held up her cup, Violet’s name scrawled on the side, “without even noticing?”

“I’m sorry Miss, that wasn’t my intention.” Pearl smiled, the air crackling with sexual tension. Fame loved teasing Pearl, loved playing this game of pretend between them.

“Perhaps not, but the damage has been done,” Fame said, keeping her tone cool and even, looking directly into Pearl’s eyes.

“Let me make it up to you, Miss,” said Pearl. Her sleepy voice with just a hint of rasp from last night’s debauchery made the offer implicitly sexy.

“You really think it’s going to be that easy?” Fame asked. She drummed her nails on the arm of her chair as she leaned back.

“Maybe not, but I can have fun trying.” Pearl took a few steps forward and dropped to her knees.

“Hm.”

Fame looked down at her lovely face, reaching down to remove her sunglasses.

“Please, Miss?” Pearl placed a kiss against her knee, lifting the hem of her skirt slowly.

“Fine,” Fame said, voice resigned as if she was indulging Pearl and not the other way around. “But be quick.”

***

On Thursday morning, when Max stopped by Fame’s office to drop off a batch of photos with the new sample clothes, he noticed that Violet looked out of sorts.

To a stranger she probably looked perfectly poised, but Max could see it in the way her ponytail wasn’t completely tight, could see it in the way she kept sipping water.

So later that day, during a creative meeting which meant Fame was out of the office, he returned with coffees and a little bag of croissants, gently asking if she had time for a short break. She’d accepted the coffee gratefully, but hesitated about the pastry.

“They’re still warm, if that helps,” he said, and that seemed to seal the deal.

Violet reached into the back and pulled one out, sinking back into her chair with a sigh as Max settled on the sofa.

“It’s been a rather hectic week, hasn’t it?”

“You have no idea,” Violet smiled, shaking her head.

“Anything I can assist with?” Max offered.

“No, I just...I really need to find a candidate, any candidate for the assistant position that Fame will at least consider.” Violet sighed. “The last few didn’t exactly-”

“Go well?” Max guessed.

“That’s generous, and I have no idea where I went wrong.” Violet groaned. “Fame needs someone who can do well, who can support her in everything. Everyone so far has been more than qualified, one of them even worked as an event planner, and yet, she sent them all away without a second though.”

“That sounds like her.” Max smiled.

“If she won’t accept people who are organized and experienced…” Violet trailed off, eyes going to the resumes littering her desk, creases in them telling Max how many times she’d been through them. “I don’t know what to do.”

Max pondered her dilemma. Of course, considering their boss’s desire for perfection, it would make sense for Violet to bring in these competent professionals with years of experience. On paper, that made perfect sense.

But there was another side to Fame, one with which Violet was probably less familiar.

“Have you considered…” Max paused. He needed to be careful to phrase this correctly. “You know how she loves to cultivate talent. To discover people, so to speak. So while it’s important to bring in people who are smart and capable...perhaps consider someone a bit more...green?”

Violet tilted her head, brow furrowed. It seems that offering up fresh young faces simply hadn’t occurred to her.

“You never know,” Max said, “But she may very well appeal to someone eager and ready to learn. And, uh...aesthetically pleasing, shall we say?”

“I guess... “ Violet’s eyes drifted back to the resumes on her desk, realization dawning on her face as she pulled one from the pile. “It’ll be worth a shot. Thank you Max.”

“Don’t mention it,” Max said with a wry chuckle. “Really. Don’t mention it. HR would probably not appreciate the way I phrased that.”

“Probably not.” Violet laughed, and they clinked their paper cups together.

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #lesbian au #fashion au #pearlet #trixya #fame x pearl #violet chachki #pearl liaison #courtney act #adore delano #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #miss fame #max malanaphy #tw for brief moment of panic

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darling-i-read-it · 6 years

Text

Pool After 9

Billy Hargrove x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Cuss words and mentions of sex i guess, underage drinking

Author’s Note: This is for @dacremontgomerylover s writing challenge! Go check them out if you like that they have such amazing Stranger Things stories. Also this is based like at some point early in the summer because Billy has his job at the pool.

Prompts: “You’re drunk.”

“You make me happy.”

“I want to take care of you.”

Genre: FLUFF

Song: 99 by Barns Courtney

(not my gif)

It was a hot summer night when you found yourself in Billy Hargrove’s car. The vacation from school had just begun a week ago and the hot sun was already beating down on the hood which during the day would have been horrible. You and Billy had found yourselves outside of one of the infamous parties that Billy always managed to drag you along to.

He did so so often that people had started calling you two ‘the tag team of kegs’ even though you were never actually hoisted up yourself. It didn’t surprise anyone when you walked in together.

It still surprised people over the fact that you still weren’t together together.

Anyone could see the jealousy in Billy’s eyes when you danced with anyone else and everyone could see your eyes roll whenever Billy told you to ride with Nancy home because he was picking up some no name chick and bringing her to lovers lake or something.

Lovers lake, his house, just hanging out in an alleyway parked in the car.

It was worth it to mention he never once took a girl to the community pool after hours.

The pool was to be locked up at 9 o’clock sharp and with Billy’s new job he always picked up chicks there and brought them home when his shift ended at around 2 in the afternoon. Billy took girls from the pool but it was kind of your guys spot.

He never said that and neither have you, but you both knew that the pool after 9 was off limits to anyone that wasn’t carrying a beer and riding there in a camaro. In other words, no one but you.

Billy was immediately greeted with a ton of handshakes and screams of drunken joy from fellow popular kids. You flanked back to find Nancy by the punch bowl, talking with Jonathan about something closely. It was odd to see him here but you guessed Nance had dragged him as Billy had dragged you.

“Who spiked the punch today?” you asked as you approached. Nancy rolled her eyes and pointed at Tommy who was dancing on top of a table. You noted neither Nancy or Jonathan were holding a red solo cup and you decided that was probably a good idea.

“Thanks,” you commented, sitting on the counter beside them.

“Are you here with keg king again today?” Jonathan asked. You chuckled.

“When am I not Johnny boy?” Nancy gave her boyfriend a look that you just barely caught. “What is it?” you asked defensively. She shrugged.

“Nothing. Just that we haven’t seen Billy take anyone home for a few days is all. That’s new for him,” she commented. You rolled your eyes.

“What are you insinuating?” you asked. Jonathan was going to speak but he was interrupted.

“Baby get over here!” Billy yelled. You turned around and watched him be carried out the door to where there was presumably some challenge he had been caught up in.

“Gimme a moment!” you called back, turning back to the couple. You waited for them to finish whatever they had started saying but Nancy just gave you her eyebrows.

“Go get your boyfriend,” she whispered and you sighed, walking back to the back door.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

As you were leaving Jonathan called after you, “Try telling him that!”

You didn’t say anything but blushed as you walked away.

Eventually you ended up finding Billy, a little while later and by the time you got to him he was stumbling around. You caught him just before he fell and tried to balance his weight with yours.

“Hey baby,” he slurred, voice still charming and flirtatious.

“Hey Billy,” you countered with a laugh. He raised a hand to your cheek, holding it for a moment. You swore you stopped breathing for just a moment with how he had managed to catch you off guard.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered.

“You’re drunk,” you told him. He rolled his eyes.

“Can we go to the pool?” he asked, voice vulnerable. Billy either melted as a drunk or he was a hardass that somehow managed to get people to get in bed with him. You nodded and started leading him outside.

“I’m driving.”

Billy kept the keys to the gate of the pool around his mirror so that on nights like these when he was sobering up he was well aware he wasn’t able to locate keys and so you could grab them. You opened the gate and helped him walk inside as he had already started to get sober on the ride. He walked to sit on the edge of the pool. He had enough sense to take off his shoes while you grabbed two beers, small ones so he couldn’t get anymore drunk then he already was, from his work locker. You kicked off your flip flops and sat beside him, opening your bottle and making sure he had taken off his shoes and rolled up his jeans.

“I still don’t know why you insist on wearing jeans in this weather,” you grumbled. He watched you carefully.

“Why do you take care of me?” he asked when he had both feet in the cool pool. You looked up at him, taking a swig of the drink. You shrugged.

“I want to take care of you. Who knows what’ll happen if I don’t?” you joked. He watched you and you could see him slowly regaining his sobriety. Instead of opening his bottle you gave him a water to drink which he took with an eye roll.

“But like why?” he asked again. You shared a smile and kicked your feet in the water so that they were just barely touching his.

“You make me happy you big dick. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you confessed. He smirked and you rolled your eyes.

“You make me happy too. Always got eye candy around,” he slipped. You hit his arm which caused him to chuckle. “No but really. I’m glad you’ve stuck around with my big dick.”

“You’re trying to be genuine but it's just not coming through,” you told him with a grin. He drank some more of the water before putting it down. You placed the beer bottle down as well.

“You’re the easiest to tolerate,” he tried.

“One more time.”

“You’ve got a really nice ass.”

“Billy!”

“Fine! You make me happy. You make me happy on nights at the pool, you make me happy when you watch me get drunk, you make me happy when you’re smiling, you make me happy when you sit on counters and you have really great lips.” You were speechless.

“Yeah okay that works,” you whispered in awe. He rolled his eyes and waited for something else. “Oh you want me to kiss you? I thought you were going to kiss me here bu-”

It didn’t take him long to get the hint and kiss you. He knocked the beer bottle over getting closer to you but you didn’t break away.

The moonlight reflected off the pool that the two of you managed to nearly fall into out of eagerness.

Somewhere Nancy and Jonathan were nodding to each other.

Tag list: @swanky-batman @caswinchester2000

#dacremontgomerylover1.2k #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things imagines

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drivelings · 5 years

Text

183.

Jesse McCree is no stranger to close calls or phrases like 'by the skin of his teeth'.

Ever since he was young, he was told he had the 'Devil's own luck', and he's inclined to believe it: a man with a bounty like his still alive and kicking? It can't just be because of pure skill (though he's like to think that this had something to do with his prolonged survival) or ingenuity (but it's not like he's lacking in any either).

(His good looks probably don't hurt none either.)

He knows when to pay homage to Lady Luck herself and wonders if there'll ever be a day when she'll want her dues. Maybe when she's no longer interested in his face after it has long gone grey and wrinkly.

Or maybe now when his fucking legs are both trapped beneath debris and his busted arm even more busted, head cracked open and dying the ground a new color, his breath rattling strangely in his lungs. Everything rings and hurts all over. He can't even remember what got him here in the first place, the last few minutes leading up to this point a complete blank.

His luck had to run out at some point.

And this might just be it.

So it's a complete surprise when he sees you (or who he thinks is you) drop out of nowhere, onto your knees and panicked.

"McCr--what the fu--can yo..." Your words are all jumbled up and he can't even tell if it's the blood loss or just you.

He would be excited about seeing a familiar face here, sure, but he can't bring himself to care now. The thought is nice though, having someone he'd call a 'friend' beside him as he bled out in the middle of God-knows-where to give him last rites. It's sure as hell a lot more than he would've ever expected for himself. If he had a choice, he would've liked to go out in the dead of night, watching the moon, a cigar in his mouth and maybe a lullaby--one that his papa used to hum on those few nights he ever dropped by as Jesse was falling asleep before he had to leave again for his trucking job.

But this will do.

"I'm going to get you out of here," you say loudly and slowly like you're on the verge of hyperventilating yourself. "Go'na get you to Mercy. You'll be fine."

Somehow he doubts it, but the thought is appreciated.

“Oh sug’,” he mumbles, “Lady Luck ain’t got nothin’ on you.”

“Oh shut up, McCree,” you hiss. You then rub the heels of your hands into your eyes. "No, wait. Don't shut up. Or do. I don't--save your strength."

True to form, he refuses to remain silent or follow orders. He's got nothing to lose except his dignity and who needs that when he's two steps from Death's door? “

"Bit of a gambling man m'self.”

HIs words slur more and more as time goes on.

“Tell me.” You take a shudder breath and lightly slap him in the cheek with your free hand, ignoring the setting cold on his skin. “Come on, McCree. Tell me.”

“’s a secret.”

“

"Oh sug'," he mumbles, the sleepy delirium in his eyes looking right through you, "Lady Luck ain't got nothin' on you."

"Oh shut up, McCree," you hiss. The panic rising inside you strangles any other words that fight to make it out, but your fingers and hands are still good to go, one diving into your waist-pack and the other keeping the pressure constant on the serape bundled against McCree's side, soaking up all the blood that would otherwise be on the ground.

True to form, he refuses to remain silent or follow orders. "

"Bit of a gambling man m'self."

HIs words slur more and more as time goes on.

"Tell me." You take a shuddering breath and lightly slap him in the cheek with your free hand, ignoring the setting cold on his skin. "Come on, McCree. Tell me."

"'s a secret."

Barns Courtney - “Sinners”

Fortune, fortune, smiling fate, haven’t seen you much of late

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theofficialcunt · 6 years

Text

Hurricane Adore - Chapter 1

#biadore #multi chap

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

Text

Life Story, Part 39

My father had planned a family trip to Florida, for us and Tammy to come along the summer of 2004. The plan was that we get into a rental vehicle, and we drive out to Portland Oregon, stay the night at a fancy hotel that my second cousin Jason (no relation to friend Jason at school) had a prominent position in, and then fly from there to Florida where my uncle Bob would be waiting. I had never heard of Portland before. I had actually never been to a town bigger than Spokane (though I had been to Florida once before as you may recall, and Florida, by comparison to the northwest seems to rarely become rural and therefore seemed like a town that never ended). And I had only been to Spokane about three times in my entire life.

Tammy was upset at having to leave her kids behind. Her and my father seemed to be having problems, but were trying to make the relationship work long enough to go on vacation. I remember I foolishly stayed up the whole night before we left. Back in those days MTV used to give it's users the option of a personalized page, where you could discover music and connect with other users. It was kind of like a more limited MySpace. Nothing of the sort exists on MTV any longer of course, and I doubt very many people even remember. My new favorite band was Rancid. I would listen to ..And Out Come The Wolves about three times a day. I loved Tim Armstrong. He was my hero. I wanted to be punk, but at the same time I knew it wouldn't be cool to profess yourself as punk, so I wanted others to label me as punk so I could then dismiss that I was punk, therefore proving even further just how punk I really was. At least that was my whole internalized logic on the matter.

I thought I knew what punk was, and I felt like even though I wasn't edgy and punk, I could at least put others down who were less edgy and punk than I but thought they were – for the sake of keeping punk 'pure' whatever that means entirely. I was obsessed with condemning posers. I would go on these absurd rants against 'the posers' all day sometimes. I am sure Sarah, bless her soul, who had to passively listen to countless hours of my concern for the teenyboppers who thought that Avril Lavigne and Hilary Duff were true punk rockers, simply because Hilary Duff had worn a bracelet that had spikes on it for a photo shoot one time was weary of it, even when she chose to agree. In my mind, I was defending some great concept from the end. I wanted to be someone who had strong opinions. It didn't matter if I was able to defend them or not.

The night before heading out to Florida, I was spending so much time watching and thinking about musicians I hated, that I might as well have been considered a fan really – having spent as much time thinking about these artists as an admirer would. I started sending these unnecessary messages to people whenever I could to people who liked Hilary Duff, Avril Lavigne, but also to people who were fond of Courtney Love. I thought she was also extremely trashy, and I did this thing where I compared her to Kurt Cobain and put her down. I would message these people and let them know how shallow and trashy they were, and how they were killing punk and should ashamed of themselves. They would generally jump into a very pointless argument with me, having found the strong need to defend their favs. Somehow, I guess I must have thought I was making some kind of difference. It's such a foreign notion to me now, sending hate mail. I would have to be getting one hundred dollars an hour or more to waste my time pestering people. My only stab at guessing is that I was perhaps displacing my frustrations in life onto something I could attack, rather than all the things that I could not.

I was exhausted all the way to Portland, having stayed up all night embroiled in pointless back and forth between strangers online. I had never been farther than ten miles west of Lewiston in my entire life. So it was a shocking surprise to me when I found that past Lewiston, the world continued. We drove through an endless sea of dry empty Eastern Washington desert and heat. We drove through small towns even more empty and vague than Kendrick, towns like Waitsburg and Dayton. It was hard to imagine places more desolate than the small towns that I hailed from, but these places were even farther away from the cities than where I hailed from, and they were surrounded with nothing but fields for hundreds of miles.

A million years later we arrived in Portland. Despite my bleary eyes,I had never seen such a place and could barely contain gasps of disbelief. Despite my exhaustion, the view of The bridge that separated the east and west side was overwhelming. I had never seen such tall buildings. These buildings and this bridge, though large, are not the stately sky scrapers or bridges you see in New York or Chicago. But having lived in rural Idaho my whole life, the only real bridges I was used to seeing were the rustic kind that went across a roaring creek, or a small river.

I was also amazed to see all the obvious poverty. In Lewiston, there had been a man called The Bridgewalker who had been homeless more or less by choice, and he walked back and forth across the bridge all the time. I had seen him going to and fro for most of my entire life. Unfortunately, in 2001, he was found stabbed to death by someone who never was caught. Aside from him, I had been honestly unaware that there were homeless people that simply had nowhere to go. I had always assumed that the government would prevent this kind of poverty from happening. How could people simply walk past this without having a gut instinct that something in our society was horribly sick. Even if these people were uncooperative or to a degree driving themselves down, that too said something about our society. It was something new for me to contemplate.

We parked our vehicle at some point and walked down the streets. I saw people of every walk in life, including punks. I was fascinated by just how many staples and fliers there were on the wooden street poles. As we went along, a woman fell out of a building in front of us, and was instantly on all fours on the sidewalk throwing up her guts. I couldn't look away, though my father strongly insisted that I must.

The hotel was quite nice. When we went into the hotel, our cousin Jason (whom I had not really ever met) was gracious and brought us to our rooms. As an employee there, he had been able to pull some strings and get us a discount. From our place in high building, we could look down over the whole of the city. As the sun went down, the night lights were brilliant. Portland was a town of energy and decay. It reminded me of garbage that was given new life and in so doing became precious. I had never seen hip hop culture in real life. I had never seen real punks, or an counter culture really aside from a very small amount of hicks who happen to also line up with metalhead.

This stuff is just a day in the life for a great many people. I realize my shock and awe is probably a little bit silly sounding, but just this introduction to a city blew my mind. I felt in my bones that I belonged in a place like this. I couldn't wait to tell Sarah all about it, so that someday we might move to the city to become recognized and earn our place as rock stars. Underneath this big glorious egotistical craving for fame was of course the rage and disappointment of having had a life full of disrespect and abuse. Imagining that in the end, all the losses in my life might make sense made living worth trying. It also kept me distracted as well from the underlying fatigue of missing Zack all the time. I wanted to become a legend. I wanted to be adored and loved by endless amounts of people to make up for all the empty sadness I felt all the time.

In the morning, a tax picked us up and we were on our way to the airport. Tammy and my father didn't seem to be enjoying themselves in the least. I was, however. As we were situating Allison and David and getting our luggage in the vehicle, a homeless man came up to the cab driver in the window. He asked for money, threatening to prevent us from leaving the area until he got his money. The cab driver seemed callous and had a personality naturally ready for any bit of conflict that came his way. The both of them cussed one another out. We all got in the back with our stuff, and as we were leaving I watched the homeless man run after the car and throw a slushy (where this came from I shall never know) screaming obscenities at us the entire time.

The airplane ride over from Portland, to Denver, to Florida was of course fantastic. I had said it before, but air travel is one of my very favorite things in the whole world. I was given a window seat, which I deeply appreciated. We flew all day, and showed up to Florida that night. Its always a shock to arrive in the south by plane. Idaho has extremely dry air. It is very much what I am used to. To me the air is almost unbreathable down south. It's hot and moist and dense. I always go into mild shock when stepping of the cockpit. My uncle Bob and his wife Marty picked us up in two separate vehicles. Marty had been fond of me when I was younger. I had thought in my youth that she was pretty nice as well. However, now that I was older, I soon saw past this. It was her in the driver seat, I in the passengers side. Allison and David were in the back seat sleeping.

Marty apparently could not see me in the darkness of the car. She started talking about how disgusting it was that people dyed their hair. She thought people with piercings and tattoos deserved to die. She then started talking about how even though she liked the south, she wished that most all of the (insert racial slur)'s would go back to Africa, China, Mexico, Israel, Eastern Europe. She talked about how dirty other people were. She literally said she hated all music, blaming it for most of the U.S's problems. That the young people having a sex life made her sick. Marty hated children and had abandoned her own, feeling nothing for them. She was very proud of this fact. I didn't say anything. I didn't know how to make a point back then, and was somewhat used to agreeing for the sake of agreement in the moment, but this was too far. I mostly just sat there – wondering when she would see that I had dyed my hair black and my eyebrow was pierced. Also, I was chubby, and according to her, she honestly wished slow and painful deaths on overweight people – though she herself was a little chubby. I realized very quickly I didn't like her. And the shock on her face when I stepped out of the vehicle and into the home was priceless.

I was set up in a separate bedroom for my visit. I crashed that night after a day of flying, and woke up in the morning in a pool or sweat. They turned the air conditioner off at night. I thought this was very strange. If anything, I find that in places were it is always hot, it is actually much more beneficial to keep the air conditioner on at night instead. I have always been overly sensitive to heat. I realized in dismay that a gel pen I was using to write had fallen out of my pocket. I had been so tired, I had fallen asleep in my street clothes. The pen had leaked all over the sheets I was sleeping on. Ordinarily I would have told someone in the house and apologized, but Marty had seemed so atrocious the night before, I chose not to. It seemed like it would only add to the stress.

Bob was really into music. He had a lot of money, being a superintendent to several schools, and he was able to buy enough to keep several guitars. He had specialty Eric Clapton kinds of items. My father and him messed around with guitars in the music room, but as far as playing the instruments went, nobody in the house was allowed to make a peep, since soulless Marty hated all music. I had troubles understanding why Bob was married to her. Eventually, probably a week later, Marty discovered the spilled ink on her sheets. She also discovered that I opened my bedroom window at night. It was so hot at night I was beginning to feel dizzy, and even the outdoor air was preferable. I guess, though I don't know if this is a fact, if you leave a window or a door open too long in Florida, than some kind of rot will begin taking over almost immediately. At least that is what she insisted. She also exaggerated and said the sheets were three hundred dollars. My father looked them over, and honestly, they were absolutely not that much money. Marty hated me. She took Allison and David aside throughout the trip and told them as much. The entire time, she seemed to find reasons to be upset with my being there, once even shouting at me. My father had to step in on my behalf.

We tried to do fun things everyday. It really felt like Tammy was annoyed most of the time, and my father was stressed and trying to win her over somehow. At some point we went to a flea market. I still have a wraparound that I bought from one of the vendors. I stared longingly at the Buddhist statues and knickknacks on display, and my uncle Bob ended up buying one for me – which I also have kept. I tried to enjoy the ocean again. We arrived on the shores of the Atlantic, and for the second time I couldn't handle it and went crazy. I loved it at first, though I couldn't help but look at a this person who was so tan that their skin was a dark orange brown and get a bit disturbed. I also really wondered how so many people enjoyed being in the same place. I tried to dig after a clam, but with little success, the bugger was too fast. The ocean was also nowhere a person could reasonably swim. And as I looked at it, I began questioning who I was. I became separated from my thoughts somehow, and started sensing the notion that there was not one version of me, but several, all of us looking out at the ocean, and none of us being aware or understanding one another. I started feeling shaky and confused. I felt like the tide was static, and it was the land that was moving back and forth. I became dizzy and almost passed out. I became nauseous. I knew from previous experience that something was actually wrong with me and nothing had actually changed, and after an hour of being separated from the ocean, I felt better again. The ocean and I can never be a match. I have tried looking up what this feeling could be. I guess it's some kind of seasickness or vertigo. But there is this strange psychological element to it that baffles me to this day.

We visited Disney World again. This time we went to Magic Kingdom. I don't remember everything about it, other than there was this 3D movie. They had us put on glasses, and I watched in horror as the Bug's Life bugs on the screen became real, and flew into my face. When one of the bugs began blasting acorns into the face of the audience at one hundred miles an hour, a blast of air from the seat in front of us blew air in our face. They had these choreographed fans, and when the bee flew behind and stung the audience, a pointy object came out from the backs of our chairs. I had had quite enough of this and took the glasses off and closed my eyes.

Most of Disney world was waiting in line. Most of the people seemed unhappy. I was able to get somewhat close to the fantasy castle that I had so dearly wanted to live in when I saw it in pictures as a young child, and I was disappointed to find that the castle wasn't really a castle. It was more or less a prop held up by planks. There might have been some places a person could be in inside the monument, but this was probably for those who worked on or around the castle. I couldn't help but take note that many things I had believed were magical and enchanted as a child were actually very much this way. Though my favorite ride (maybe the only one I really thought much of) was the It's A Small World Ride, which was basically being in a boat that carried you through these intricate vivid surreal settings with these electronic puppets all around you singing and dancing. Randomly the lights would go out and you would drop thirty feet or so. Allison was crying by the end of it.

We also went to the Everglades, and I adored it. There is a unique loveliness to that place that is hard to explain unless you have been there. Dead trees, moss, and living organisms of all kinds were teeming out of this swamp. There was this overfed alligator that laid out in the front of the resort area. It seemed to be overfed with the intention of showing guests just how big a gator could be. I was astounded, but couldn't help but feel that the alligator's life in that small containment was quite unnatural and a little sad. We took a tour on a motor boat that stopped at random places. It was marshy and intricate in detail of twigs and muck. Little alligators and large turtles swam up to the boat. I tried my very best to get a good photograph, and my father had to hold me back from getting too close to an alligator for the sake of a decent picture. After the trip, which I wanted to do again, but couldn't, we went into the restaurant and I ended up breaking my vegetarian diet and eating alligator. I remember liking it, though nothing distinct about it comes to mind.

My father wanted to go to the Florida Keys with Tammy, and we wanted to see my older sister Maria, who also lived in Florida. We didn't exactly, want to, but I hadn't seen my niece Jasmine in a very long time, and now I had even more nieces and nephews. Florida is strange in that you seem to be able to drive from one side to the other with a relative amount of ease. We drove a few hours to this other part of Florida. This part was really rugged it seemed to me, and beaten down. The buildings looked to be falling apart and neighborhoods far more seedy. There was a lot more graffiti on the walls of businesses, and a fair amount of small loan businesses and places of that nature. Florida wasn't all resorts and sandy beaches.

We found Maria's house and were dropped off with the promise of getting picked up in a week. This ended up being one of the most unpleasant weeks of my life. The place was run down and garbage was everywhere. There wasn't very many decent places to sleep or sit. The couch I was sleeping on was soiled and gross. There wasn't really any food, though there was enough. Maria made hamburger helper every night. And the family all watched either cheap infomercials or this bad tasteless comedy called Stuck on You, about conjoined twins. Everyday I found myself bored out of my mind, wanting to be anywhere else. It was always hot, the carpet was sticky. Jasmine was five now, and I did enjoy being around her. Ian was two or three and he seemed to be a bit more of a handful, and Chantelle was just a little baby, with a particularly pretty face, which I don't give that compliment lightly. Babies can be cute, but they often aren't pretty.

In order to get by mentally, I ended up spending several dollars on Ben and Jerry's ice cream at this nearby corner market. By this time in my life, I was eating a lot, and it would be dishonest for me to underplay it. I was eating two or three of those small five dollar containers a day while visiting Maria. Ordinarily, I never had the money to buy snacks, but given my situation and the feeling of being trapped, I felt I really had no choice. I ended up spending around eighty dollars on ice cream. It was one of the biggest amounts of money I had ever had in my pocket at any one time, and that is what I blew it on. I really regretted it. So in order to make up for this, when my father finally came and got me – which felt like years later, I lied to him about where my money went, and I told him that I spent it on food for Maria, since her and her kids seemed to be starving. He felt badly about my martyrdom and reimbursed me. I had also eaten so much ice cream that I had made myself disgusted even at the site of it, and it was almost two years before I would partake in eating it ever again.

I wish I could say that my favorite thing about Florida was Disney World or the beach. The Everglades were close. But to be honest, we went into a department store and I found Radiohead's 'The Bends'. It's something I could have found at home in Idaho, but the new setting, the new kinds of trees, weather, and overall tropical nature of Florida brought this album to life somehow. I might be one of the only people in the world that feels on instinct that The Bends is a tropical album in any way. I spent most of my time in Florida listening to The Bends over and over again on my headphones with my portable cd player. My greatest memories were of listening to this album on repeat, while watching the world shower with rain.

I kept thinking about Zack, somewhere out there. And I thought very hard about the promises he made to me before he left. He had promised me that he would come get me one day, him, Melissa and I, and we would escape. I wondered very seriously where people could ever go to escape truly, as it seemed that there was a homogeneous undercurrent to the world, regardless if you lived on one side of the globe or the other. And what was there to escape? What was it we were fighting against exactly? He seemed to doubt the legitimacy of everything, and had been paranoid about the government in all it's forms. So really, could there be such a place?

I have no idea of the details behind all the days that Tammy and my father were gone, but they seemed miserable with each other when they arrived to pick us up, and for the remainder of the time, it only seemed to get worse. Eventually, Tammy seemed to befriend Marty, and the two of them started openly talking badly about both my and my father. I knew something was up, but it was hard to put my finger on it. And there were moment where my uncle would look me over, and I felt kind of strange about that as well. I didn't want to think that he was being a pervert, but I had some indication to believe that he may have been being one. He was also being very accommodating and friendly. He burned me the Beatles Anthology 3, which is my favorite Beatles album. He gave me a small acoustic guitar as well.

The last days I mostly stayed indoors in the overheated room that I could no longer cool down by opening the window, else the spores of fungi come in and take over the entire house. My CD player ran out of batteries, and there was no available opportunities for me to go get more. So I mostly laid in bed all day and watched all of The Tenth Kingdom – which I found a copy of somewhere in the house, and hours and hours of the Ricki Lake Show. I felt gross. And everyone was angry at one another. It was hard for me to leave the bedroom without one of the adults making me feel weird.

On the last day, my father came into the room. He sat me down and told me that Uncle Bob and Aunt Marty were willing to keep me. Basically, they felt that I was a lazy teenager who needed a kick in the boot, and having me stay there with them would be a bit like bootcamp for me to reform me – change me from a bad teenager into a good one. They were willing to pay for me to get the schooling I needed to catch up. They might have been willing to even pay for my college if I stayed long enough. They would set me up in one of the rooms and I could have things that I never even really thought about having since they were so far out of reach. My uncle had money after all. They also wanted to get me into the habit of doing a lot of chores. I felt very strongly that Marty was hoping to turn me into a maid that she could ridicule whenever she wanted.

With the reality of the situation at hand, I told my father I would think about it, and I did. I wanted a new life away from Kendrick, but the pain of Ava and Zack was still very much a part of my daily life, that seemed like it would never go away and was always staring me in the face when I woke up in the morning. I wanted to stay close with Sarah, but most of the time it was hard to do much with her. She slept till four in the afternoon and rarely left the house unless it was night time. And most of the time she just wanted to sit at the computer and talk to people on the CKY forums talking to her online friends. This might have been a chance for me to be a new person. The money was there at least.

But I couldn't help but remember my uncles strange way of looking at my chest, and then just thinking of living with my wretched racist aunt. Something felt very wrong about it. Not to seem totally shallow, but it never made much sense to me how Bob was married to Marty. She had female baldness, a squinty mean face, this strange shrill voice that was constantly criticizing and angry, and most of the things she said were horribly racist and disgusting. She was honestly too horrible to even get a job. Whereas, my uncle didn't share any of her values, had a fancy job, looked pretty normal and seemed very bright and talented. He had paintings he had done all over the house, and they were amazing. They seemed to have nothing in common. So why did they want me to be a part of it? Like, both of them were willing to keep me around, but with both of them it seemed to be for entirely different reasons. Marty wanted to beat down a young woman since she felt this cruel vindictive urge to do that sort of thing to someone else seemingly all the time, and my uncle wanted to shower me with gifts – and look at my chest(?)

I had this strange hunch about the situation, and I could think of many scenarios that seemed horrific, that involved good cop, bad cop, blackmail and guilt, possible molestation, and ultimately two sociopathic people looking to destroy my spirit. This might be a very unfair assessment and the ravings of my own mistrustful imagination. I realize it might shock and horrify my uncle who might have honestly felt he was trying to do right by me. I am being honest writing this now in a way I never really have been too often about the situation. Because really, nothing happened. I am going purely on small microexpressions and notions that I was given. After a week of being home, I declined. My father seemed relieved. In doing this, I might have turned down a free education, a possible grand future, but it seemed wrong on instinct, and if for no better reason, I could not imagine calling Florida home. It seemed wrong to leave Sarah and Zack if nothing else. As hard as life was in Idaho, I couldn't simply deny my destiny there. And even for all the problems I had, I would have missed my own father, whom I could at least trust to never look at me inappropriately.

On the plane trip home, I was disappointed that I would be getting a middle seat instead of a window. Allison took the aisle seat next to me. At first, nobody seemed to be taking the designated seat by the window in my lane, so I held out hope that the person would not arrive. As I sat there, a very large woman boarded the plane. She was the largest woman I had ever seen. When I call her fat, I don't mean it as an insult. It was simply and truly the case that she was so large she could barely walk. And her seat was right next to mine as the window seat.

There really was barely enough room for her. We both got up for her and let her get in her seat. She seemed extremely uncomfortable. I got this strong feeling that she was actually terrified. People were looking over the seats in front of them just to get a look at her. I didn't want to be rude either, but her girth was such that she was spilling into my seat, and there was really almost no room for me. I could not really operate the video screen in front of me to watch anything, since her fat had spilled over the armrest with the buttons on it.

We started flying and when we reached a level altitude, as is the custom, a flight attendant served us Sunchips. She accepted them, but I noticed that as she was eating them, she started crying. I felt so horrible for her. I didn't know anything about her life at all in any way, but I really had this strong sense that whatever had brought her onto an airplane had to be really traumatic. And I could tell that she knew that her fat was spilling over onto my lap. She was humiliated. As uncomfortable as I was, with this close of proximity, I really could understand that this was causing her serious fatigue an distress and misery was so much worse. The plane ride was several hours. In that time, without having any window to look out of, being trapped between Allison sleeping against me, and her on the other side, I was stiff as an uncomfortable board. She continued to cry for a good many hours. The minor bit of turbulence made me feel kind of sick. It was not a fun plane ride home.

However, I will say that this trip made me really think about what it means to be that heavy in the world. I was able to get a grasp of the humanity of her situation in a way I may never have been had I not been thrust into this circumstance. Sure, I have always been somewhat more or less heavy myself – but not on that level. For her, there was no escaping just about every technical and societally negative aspect for this woman who clearly was suffering and simply wanted to be able to be treated with dignity. It's an uncomfortable situation that I think many people would have gone home laughing at, if they had been in my shoes – because most people, if I am going to be honest, are not very kind. Her experience was something nobody should have to go through with. And people her size should not have to pay for an added seat. It's dehumanizing. There should be seats that are designed for people like her, and she shouldn't have been forced to put herself in a situation where she was humiliated like that. And when a few years ago, that Nicole Arbor 'Dear Fat People' video came out on YouTube, I really thought everything that was said was horrible and vicious. I couldn't help but feel like Nicole Arbor was targeting this woman that I sat next to a decade previous.

My father and Tammy ended up breaking up when we got home. By the time we were on the plane, Tammy was saying she felt sorry for me that my father was Dave. I listened to her awkwardly. I guess Tammy had been pregnant, had not told my father, and had chosen to get an abortion instead as soon as she got home. Or something like that, I am not entirely sure of the time scale of this situation. My father was an angry sobbing mess, feeling that Tammy had somehow aborted his baby – as he is pro-life. He wasn't quite so adamant that this was a case of murder, as he has at least the vague notion that abortion isn't exactly that simple. But he was upset. He tried to visit Tammy here and again, but eventually they were done, and another potential stepmom was out the door.

And that more or less was my trip to Florida. It cost my father over eleven thousand dollars, which seemed unreal to me. I never told him that my favorite part had simply been listening to The Bends on my headphones while watching it rain, an experience that had only cost me a mere 14$.

PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q

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PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

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13 notes · View notes

three-eyedraven · 8 years

Note

I want you to do all the numbers. I only reply so quickly because I get notifications when you post because I love you so much ❤❤ And I want to learn more about you

0: Height

5′2″

1: Virgin?

yes

2: Shoe size

anywhere from 7-8

3: Do you smoke?

4: Do you drink?

5: Do you take drugs?

I take CBD oil for my anxiety from time to time. I need to get better about taking it more regularly but I forget. (I don’t really consider it much of a drug really since there is no THC in it but it was recently classified as one so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

6: Age you get mistaken for

idk. a lot of the time like 18-20 but sometimes younger cuz im short and v quiet/my voice pitch goes up due to my social anxiety which i guess seems childish

7: Have tattoos?

not yet

8: Want any tattoos?

yep!

9: Got any piercings?

yep

10: Want any piercings?

don’t think there are anymore that I want so nah

11: Best friend?

Honestly, my girlfriend ( @lizzywaffles ). Also Rachel, Courtney, Mimi, Jordan, and Grace even though I don’t get to talk to her or see her a lot anymore.

12: Relationship status

In one ♡

13: Biggest turn ons

Idk probably light back scratching/rubbing, butt touching, lip biting, getting my hair played w, and idk that’s all I can think of rn. Just kissing is chill too.

14: Biggest turn offs

Rude, bigoted, not understanding or patient w me bc I take a lot of work, dishonest, loud, impulsive (like in a bad way [if that makes sense]), disloyal, and basically just basic things that most people don’t like.

15: Favorite movie

(in no order) Dope, Ponyo, Belle, Across the Universe, Lilo and Stitch, and I think that’s it

16: I’ll love you if

Are honest w me and respect me. Patient w me and kind to me. Funny and intelligent. Mostly if you are understanding and tbh I like clingy or don’t be super distant (unless you need it that’s okay) bc it’s always good to know you’re loved.

17: Someone you miss

My aunt, some of my friends cuz I haven’t seen a lot of people over break that I would’ve liked too which is bc I am trash and never initiate things. Also my girlfriend cuz I’m clingy yikes srry (but not really).

18: Most traumatic experience

Would rather not

19: A fact about your personality

I am v quiet. Like I just don’t really like to talk a lot plus I am v shy and suck at holding conversations so if I am ever really awkward and quiet around you or don’t reply it’s mostly bc Idk what to say so please do not take it personally, I’m v sorry.

20: What I hate most about myself

*queue Jean-Ralphio voice* everythiiinnnggg

But if I had to choose one thing personality wise it’d be my anxiety and physically my skin or maybe my weight

21: What I love most about myself

I like how artistic/creative I am

22: What I want to be when I get older

Makeup artist

23: My relationship with my sibling(s)

It’s good, I guess

24: My relationship with my parent(s)

I love my mom a lot even though we fight sometimes and my dad I’m kinda neutral on tbh like I’m just v uncomfy around him and usually just get annoyed so meh.

25: My idea of a perfect date

Probably eat some good food whether we make it or go somewhere, then just chill out and maybe watch something, and then cuddle. Also I just like drives or walks especially at pretty places. Idk I am p simple tbh and I just love being around my s/o so really anything that doesn’t give me anxiety is gr8.

26: My biggest pet peeves

Chewing loudly, interrupting, and that’s all I can think of tbh.

27: A description of the girl/boy I like

She is the most wonderful person ever and I adore her w every fiber of my being. She treats me v well and we always have a great time together. She makes me feel comfy and at home which is something that I never feel honestly so it is really nice. On the outside she is super swaggy but she is actually a huge dork once you get to know her and it is amazing. She also is really talented and she’s in a band called Generation Nomad so you should check em out on Spotify or whatever your preferred music streaming thingy is. Basically to sum it up she is the most incredible human to ever exist and I lover her so much. (sorry if this is too sappy but also im not bc i just love my girl so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

28: A description of the person I dislike the most

Idk if there is someone I dislike the most honestly. I hate when people are rude, bigoted, and basically most of the things that were included in my “turn offs”.

29: A reason I’ve lied to a friend

idk cuz I didn’t want to do something

30: What I hate the most about work/school

It is v time consuming and, if you are a baby like me, they cause a lot of anxiety. Also it just seems like people get stuck in it and can’t really enjoy life which sucks and is my fear.

31: What your last text message says

One is long and salty so Imma just do the second to last one which says “holy shit”

32: What words upset me the most

Slurs and that’s all I can think of rn tbh

33: What words make me feel the best about myself

Honestly just any nice words. Validation is always gr8

34: What I find attractive in women

I guess probably their sensitivity and I am just more comfortable around women. Also they’re just so pretty.

35: What I find attractive in men

Idk I guess their strength (I can’t really think of anything else so that’s what comes to mind). Guys are great tho but I just can’t think of specifics.

36: Where I would like to live

I’d either stay in CO or I’d like to live somewhere in the upper west coast. A different country would be cool but very hard.

37: One of my insecurities

I am v quiet and anxious so I worry that it comes off as me being a bitch. Also my anxiety keeps me from doing a lot of Cool Teen™ things so people probably think that I am really lame.

38: My childhood career choice

I wanted to be a singer and before that a hair stylist like my mom.

39: My favorite ice cream flavor

Chocolate, cookies n cream, or strawberry i guess.

40: Who wish I could be

idk tbh. I just wish I was a better, cooler, happier, prettier version of myself.

41: Where I want to be right now

Somewhere warm and maybe rainy. A beach would be nice for a bit. Or just w my girlfriend (cheesy i know). Also hangin w some good friends on the road or just somewhere new or something would be nice.

42: The last thing I ate

A cookie

43: Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately

My gf

44: A random fact about anything

Crocodiles have the strongest bite of any animal.

Thank you so much for the ask!! I love you too ♡

#ask #anon #Anonymous #sorry if any of this sounds stupid i am too tired to proof read #also i am stupid so #also sorry if anyone is offended by anything for some reason??

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thebigcitynightsband · 7 years

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Bus King/Busking/Night Moves

That’s a photo of me and my ex-gf. I just found it last week in my bag that Jamie brought to me from Burlington, thanks Jamie bro. Happier times, man. We’re still friends but we don’t see each other much. That’s a repeating pattern with me. Me and a gal will break up, declare an intention to stay friends, and then I be their friend while they work hard at vanishing from my life and into the arms of some dude who hates me cuz I’m still her friend. Happened with Jessica, happened with Courtney. Next time I’ll just do the sudden severance. Seems to work for other people.

Well, fuck. I’ve been struggling a little bit lately. Still sober, still pissing in a cup every day. My hours got cut at work for a few weeks but they’re back up to full-time next week, where they’ll remain until mid-December. I’m trying to save my apartment, need to find a roommate to take over the lease, which requires first and last, which I don’t have but I’m trying to acquire somehow.

A few days ago I went busking for the first time in about a year. Queen and University is my corner, northwest side. I like it there because you get a lot of 905ers coming out of Osgoode Station to go explore Queen West, people who don’t ordinarily see buskers, so they’re generous. I can only play for about three hours on an acoustic before my fingers start to hurt too much to play chords, and you average about six bucks an hour. I write a lot of songs that way. “Make It Mine” off the new album was written while busking last year and I came up with a few new ones the other day. It was a good day, actually. I woke up broke and without food and ended the day with a full belly and a pack of cigarettes and an Arizona Iced Tea. I felt content. So I’m gonna go back out there tomorrow. And probably the next day too.

My laptop died and I almost lost the record, but I was able to extract the files after a few days of feeling numb and worried. I really like our upcoming album, the songs have kept me good company over the past year, and the thought of losing the whole damn thing, save for “Fighting Ways” which is finished, and a handful of others, was a little scary. It’s not gone though. Sweet relief. BCN songs are like cockroaches. They find a way. Cue “Long Distance King” in your head as you read that last line...”we’ll find a waaaaay, we’ll fiiind a waaaaay.” Glory days. Before everything went to shit.

Hey, know what’s a great record? Break Up Break Down by Reigning Sound. Listen to the quavering, breathless delivery from Greg Cartwright on this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7fWcZKZR3jg

Another great one off that record is called “Want You,” a really sad, pretty ballad. I’d like to make an album of Memphis ballads some day, in the vein of Break Up Break Down. We’ll call it Fuck Up Fuck Off or something.

I set up my keyboard tonight with a mind to do some overdubs tomorrow. I’ve been avoiding doing keyboard overdubs on the album forever because I’m a terrible keyboard player and it takes a really long time to get a single coherent take and I don’t have the patience that I used to. I finished “Night Needles” from A Steamroller Named Desire in a single evening, and that song has probably the most piano of any BCN song. I doubt I could do the same thing now. I’m older now and runnin against the wind, as Bob Seger would sing. Has sung, whatever. Running Against the Wind. I love that song. “Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then” is a great line eh? Legend has it Seger wanted to cut that line but the producer told him how great it was, which it is. Oftentimes artists can’t recognize their own greatness. Years ago, when I was sixteen or so, I was trying to put together a set of acoustic covers in my bedroom. I remember doing “Leave It Alone” by Moist, which is pretty embarrassing now, but also “Against the Wind” and an acoustic version of the Smashing Pumpkin’s “Ava Adore,” which I was surprised to find has a very similar chord progression as “Against the Wind.” I mean, those two songs sound nothing alike, yet they’re very alike, chord-wise.

ANYWAY I’m rambling. Just finished an assignment for a client (I do people’s homework for them as a side hustle. Forty bucks here, sixty bucks there, it all goes into the giant hole I dug for myself the past few years.) I owe money to one guy who actually chased me this past January, up near Dovercourt and Hallam. I had to jump a couple fences but I got away. He’ll get paid soon enough. They all do.

I’m working on it man. Pushing against the tide. Runnin against the wind.

One last thing about that Bob Seger song: I’ve always thought that part where he yells “let the cowboys ride!” at the end of the song was stupid. Why couldn’t he have taken that part out? It’s so obvious that he was out of ideas and just mustered up the best open field imagery he could in the moment. Let the cowboys ride? Given the greatness that comes before that line, I can’t dismiss the song, even if it’s not as good as the immortal “Night Moves.”

A quick word about “Night Moves” before I go. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_mRFWQoXq4c I honestly think it’s one of the greatest all-time vocal performances. There are three distinct parts in the song that always give me shivers. The first is that irresistible “summertime summertime” part @ 2:19. The second comes in that great breakdown, when the title changes from a sexual innuendo to a somber, forlorn musing on the passage of time and how time can move slower when you’re bored, faster when you’re absorbed and excited. Ain’t it funny how the night moves...when you just don’t seem to haaaaaaaave as much to lo-o-se. It’s that “have” that always gets me...just the way Seger gives it the perfect amount of witsfulness and gravelly gravity. Fuckin killer. Singing is always a fine balance between technical proficiency and emotional delivery, but on that line Seger’s 99% heart, 1% technique, and it still sounds incredible. To me, at least.

The last part is in the final minor descending refrain @ 5:04, even though it’s just Bob doing a bunch of “ooooohooohoohhhs.” It wouldn’t be as good if that vocal came over the main riff, but it doesn’t. It comes over the same chord progression as the chorus, that sad lilting minor key descent. Every time, man. Every time.

I’ve been trying to cover “Night Moves” since 2007. I don’t think I’ve ever got past the first chorus. I just can’t sell it. Those aren’t my memories, they’re Bob Seger’s. I never existed in the 1950s America he’s singing about in the song, the America of taking your sweetheart to the drive-in, cruising the strip, going to diners and pushing coins into jukeboxes. That wasn’t my adolescence. So it’s a tough one to sing. You have to know when you’re beaten. That’s part of growing up.

I don’t talk to my Dad anymore. He hates my guts and so does his girlfriend. It doesn’t bother me except for when I hear certain songs...songs like “Night Moves” or “Walking On The Moon” by The Police...first time I ever heard my father sing on the way to Owen Sound for a hockey tournament I was playing...it was the chorus, that “no way, chasing your cares away” part, and we had sunflower seeds and that was the night I fell in love with highways and movement and travel and all that Kerouac stuff I’d get obsessed with later, all those fuckin notebooks I filled with eager scrawling about road trips I hadn’t yet taken. I lost all those notebooks somehow, can’t remember maybe I tossed them all on purpose, kind of a year zero event. Too much in those notebooks was lines from existing songs. I remember one time going through an old notebook and seeing “the sea is foaming like a bottle of beer” and thinking I’d written it...nope...it was a Weezer song. I’d just scrawled out that one line hammered one night, drunk at 17, back when it was actually exciting to get drunk and not a sad chore like it later became.

I’m going busking tomorrow. I might not be able to do “Night Moves” but I can bust out “Against the Wind.” I ain’t licked yet. It ain’t over. I’m older now and still runnin against the wind. Let the cowboys ride or whatever.

Edit, PS: That was a really dramatic fuckin post. I’m sorry. For some much-needed levity, here’s a picture of me from last week. Some friends visited while I was in bed, and I came out to say hello still holding my book. PPS: Hey, know another great Bob Seger song? “Still the Same,” especially those ghostly backing vocals in the second verse. Check it out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjDpKeiYxOU PPPS: Hey, know another song that has cool ghostly additional instrumental in the second verse? Bruce Springsteen’s “Downbound Train.” It’s not his greatest song and I don’t like Bruce’s overdone “blue collar accent,” the dumb slurring he likes to do in order to sound more like a mechanic making $20 000 a year, but that beautiful synth organ that comes in on the second verse is just heartwrenching, listen for it @ 0:49: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nc_mv46NwT4 The organ has a pretty sweet solo for one-bar starting at 1:21. If I could get that organ tone, I wouldn’t put off doing keyboard overdubs, lemme tell ya son, I tell ya what.

#goleafsgo

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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Beneath the Amber Moon, Part 11 (Galactica AU Group Fic) – TheDane & Veronica

Heyyy!! Welcome to Part 11 of “Beneath the Amber Moon,” a group fic set in the Galactica Universe. Click here for previous chapters.

We hope you’re enjoying it! Let us know what you think!

Last chapter: In the midst of a chaotic night out, Bianca accidentally revealed Violet’s pregnancy news to Sutan. Here, the shit show continues...

/////

“Violet!”

Sutan called, his hands cupping his mouth, panic beating away in his chest. Juju had told him that Violet had gone outside, but she could be anywhere.

“Violet, where are you?!

“Here.” Sutan turned around, Violet coming around the corner. “I’m here…”

Violet wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. She was holding an arm around herself, her lip bitten and swollen, her cheeks streaked with mascara and tears, and Sutan realised that he had seen Violet cry more on this five day trip than he had seen in all of their time in Paris.

“Are you okay?”

“What did she say?”

Sutan felt it like a punch to the stomach. “So it’s true? You’re-?” Sutan gestured vaguely towards Violet’s stomach, and she nodded.

“I’m so sorry Sutan.”

Sutan looked at her, really looked, and suddenly, it all made sense. He had seen the change in Violet, had seen the slight fill to her cheeks, how her ribs were less prominent, but he had simply assumed that Violet had simply eaten a little better, his girlfriend so happy at Dior that he had figured she was just less anxious.

“I didn’t want you to find out this way, I didn’t-”

“Bianca breaking the news was… Surreal.” Sutan raised an eyebrow, the entire situation so utterly bizarre he had no idea how to react, his brain halfway shut down. He knew he had to sound like a robot, that he was zooming in on a detail that didn’t even matter, but he couldn’t let it go.

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it. Please. I need to hear it from you.”

“I don’t know if I-”

Sutan reached out, his hands closing around Violet’s elbows. “Please.”

Violet looked up, her eyes meeting his, and Sutan could feel the anxiety radiating off her.

“I’m pregnant.”

His heart skipped a beat, and Violet was crying again, tears falling from her eyes.

“How long have you known?”

“This morning.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to, I-” Violet grabbed Sutan’s arms, her voice carrying a hint of panic, and Sutan realised she was probably ready to spiral, but he had to know. “I promise I didn’t mean to hide it, I just couldn’t-”

“But you could tell Bianca?”

“I didn’t tell Bianca- I swear I didn’t- She just, I said no to a drink and she guessed and I-”

Violet was absolutely spiraling, his girlfriend breathing faster and faster. Sutan reached out, grabbing Violet’s neck, his palm easily covering the entire back. If anyone watched them from the outside, it probably looked strange, almost threatening, but Sutan knew it was the best way to calm Violet down, the touch grounding her like nothing else.

“Breathe. Baby.” Sutan moved his thumb gently caressing her collarbone. ”Breathe.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” Violet took a deep breath through her nose, her shoulders falling. “I promise!” Violet grabbed his arm, her nails digging in. “I never meant-” Violet stopped, suddenly remembering something. “I… Actually... I did tell Courtney.”

Sutan felt taken by surprise, Courtney Act the last person he had expected Violet to confide in.

“You went to Courtney before you came to me?”

“I had to tell someone- I swear I- I bumped into her and she’s-” Violet hiccuped, her tears still falling freely. “Sutan I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t say anything else.” Sutan felt nauseous, Violet’s apologies scratching his ears. His girlfriend was pregnant, and he had found out in the middle of a club. His girlfriend who had told him to his face that she didn’t want kids, was pregnant. The entire situation was unreal, Violet’s nails and the pain he felt from them the only reason he knew he wasn’t dreaming. “I don’t think I can-”

“No.” Violet tightened her grip on Sutan’s arm. “No. You have to, Sutan I know-” Violet took a deep breath, clearly and oh so desperately trying. “I... I should have told you but I don’t…” Violet looked down, her voice impossibly small. “Sutan I’m scared. I’m so scared, and I don’t know what to do.”

It washed over him like a bucket of water. Violet was holding onto him, treating him like a raft in shipwreck, clinging to him, trying not to drown. Sutan wrapped his arms around Violet, holding her tight, letting her seek the comfort she so desperately needed.

“We’ll figure it out.” Sutan kissed Violet’s hair. “We’ll figure it all out. I promise.”

Bianca continued to hand out drinks, drunk enough herself to be entirely oblivious to the drama she’d caused. She skipped Jinkx, saying, “I know you don’t want one,” getting a salute from the redhead in response.

Alaska reached forward, snatching one of the shots off the tray.

“I’ll take that!” she slurred.

“Alaska.” Jinkx attempted to stop her, gently touching her arm. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Oh, have I?” Alaska snarled.

“Yeah, you can barely stand,” Jinkx said, trying not to roll her eyes.

Bianca made no such effort, eyes rolling so hard that it made her head hurt.

“Funny how you have no trouble policing my behavior,” Alaska said, stumbling over her words, speaking slowly to cover her obvious slurring, “But you’re totally fine with Adore over there grinding on that Brazilian slut-”

“Alaska-”

“No, it’s really fuckin’ rich!” Alaska said, throwing back the shot and then pushing away from Jinkx, making her way through the crowd. Clearly on a mission.

“Alaska! Baby! Wait!”

They had left the party without looking back, Sutan throwing his jacket over Violet’s shoulders after he had handed her his handkerchief. They had walked together, Sutan texting Raja with one hand to please bring Violet’s things back to the boat, his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. Sutan still couldn’t quite believe what he had been told, even the idea that Violet was pregnant seeming like something impossible to him. He had asked on the walk how it had happened, and Violet had looked at him, Sutan realizing with a woosh to his stomach that she had no idea. Violet was so diligent in everything she did, his girlfriend's attention to details impeccable, so when Violet had told him that she had to have missed a pill, though she wasn’t sure when and why, Sutan had no idea what to say, shame washing over him. It was his fault that they had even gotten here, Sutan merely muttering once that he didn’t enjoy being back to condoms during pillow talk, the simple comment sending Violet on a quest to find a French contraception that didn’t mess with her body. Sutan hadn’t expected it to be something that would take several months, but Violet’s internal system was like a well oiled machine, nearly unstoppable when she was up and running, capable of frightening things when she put her mind to it, but it didn’t take more than a few grains of sand to stop the gears completely.

They made it to the boat, Sutan leading them to their room, his world feeling like he was walking through a haze. He closed the door behind them, and Violet headed directly for the bathroom, the sink running almost immediately, Sutan hearing the sound of brushing coming through the open door.

He hadn’t seen Violet throw up, but he knew there was a distinct possibility that she had. Violet already suffered from anxiety, the diagnosis not one he had shared with his girlfriend, Sutan pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate it at all. It shouldn’t surprise him that a nervous disposition and pregnancy didn’t mix terribly well, but his heart still clenched for Violet.

Sutan opened the door to the balcony, lighting a cigarette without even thinking. It was dark outside, small lights of ship sailing by moving in the horisont, the world still turning on its axis while everything in Sutan stood still.

Violet was pregnant, and even though she had told him in less than ideal circumstances, it had happened. Violet was pregnant, which meant it was something they had to deal with.

Sutan inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs. He wished he could call his mom, wanted to hear her voice, wanted to talk to her. Needed to hear her advice, since he had no idea what to do, a feeling he wasn’t used to in his adult life.

Sutan heard a sound behind him, and he looked over his shoulder, just to see Violet stand there, her hand gripping the glass door as she leaned against it, her eyes watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite recognise. She had changed into nightclothes, a pair of sheer white lace shorts cupping the top of her thighs, but it was her shirt that made Sutan’s heart skip a beat, her upper body wrapped in one of his shirts.

“Hey.”

“Hey...”

Violet bit her lip, and Sutan smiled, her hesitation to come near so very her. Before they had broken up, it was something that had annoyed him, not often, but it had nagged away when he had wished that Violet wasn’t so... Well, Violet. When he had wished that she was easier to read, that he understood her more, that she could and would ask him when something bothered her.

“Come out here.”

Violet looked at his cigarette, the worry clear on her face, and Sutan was just about to snap at her, annoyance rushing through his body that she dared to judge him in that moment. He knew she despised his smoking, the habit the one that could tick Violet off like nothing else, though she never spoke of it.

Violet hadn’t had a problem the entire trip - had snuggled into his arms, had hidden her face in his neck and in his shirt, had breathed in his scent even if he had just come from outside, and that was when it hit him. The only difference between then and now.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

Violet looked at him, surprise painted on her features.

“You care about this.” Sutan dropped his cigarette, stepping on it, the sole of his Armani shoe crushing the butt. “You genuinely care about the baby.”

Bianca handed more shots to Juju and Patrick, still watching the drama play out, Jinkx following Alaska through the throngs of sweaty dancers. She could see Alaska surprising Adore and Courtney, and their alarmed dance partners, throwing up her hands as she yelled something. Adore reeled back, then Courtney attempted to step in and got shoved out of the way.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Now Adore was squaring her shoulders, shouting back at Alaska, Courtney and Jinkx doing their best to hold them apart.

With one final wave of her hands, Adore stormed away, back towards the group, face screwed up like she was either about to cry or burn down a building in rage. After a few moments, Alaska wrenched her arm out of Jinkx’s grasp and flew after her.

Bianca had never seen them fight like this, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t concerned.

“Hey, are you alright-” she began to ask her sister.

“I’m fine!” Adore barreled past her.

“Adore, I was talking to you!” Alaska screeched.

“No bitch, that’s enough!” Adore shouted. “We were having a good time, and if you can’t join in, then you can back the fuck off!” She began to stomp away again, with and aggravated huff and toss of her hair.

Bianca could see Alaska about to lunge towards her, and stepped in, grabbing her shoulders.

“Not everything is about having a good time, Adore!” Alaska yelled hoarsely, struggling against Bianca’s tight grasp. “Can’t you ever be serious?! For one fucking minute?!”

Adore whirled around.

“Yeah, I’m seriousabout not wanting to look at your face right now,” Adore said. She turned to Courtney, who was trailing them tentatively, and snapped her fingers. “Come!”

Courtney, ever the ride or die, was instantly at her side, helping her gather their things and then following her back down the steps, stammering out an awkward, ‘Uhhh...happy birthday,’ to Fame in the process.

Alaska began to cry in drunken, angry frustration.

“Let go of me!” she wailed, and Bianca pushed her down onto a sofa.

“Don’t touch my fucking sister,” she said, a her tone heavy with warning, causing Alaska to cry harder.

“She won’t,” Jinkx heaved a sigh, leaning against Bianca with a forlorn expression. “Now would be a really bad time to take my first drink in ten years, wouldn’t it?” she asked, and Bianca let out a loud guffaw.

“Man, what the fuck is this night?”

“I don’t know,” Jinkx said, shaking her head.

“...I assume that Xanax is also off limits?” Bianca kissed the top of her head.

“Yes. Sadly.” Jinkx sat down heavily beside Alaska.

“I’m proud of you, red. It must take an awful lot of willpower to live with those two sober.”

“It’s usually easier. They’re really trying me right now.”

“Well...want a ginger ale?” Bianca offered.

“Not really...but sure.”

Bianca flashed a grin and headed for the bar. After all that, she needed a double.

“Honestly, this is getting ridiculous!” Raven exclaimed, stomping over to where Raja and Karl were standing, the two of them bent over Karl’s phone, Raja’s long grey hair free and absolutely delicious. Raven was tipsy, and under any other circumstances she would have wrapped herself around her wife, ran her finger through the hair she so rarely got to play with, tease and taunt Raja until she got fucked in the bathroom, but here and now, she was only pissed.

“What’s getting ridiculous, princess?” Raja asked, sipping her drink calmly, her brow eyes watching Raven with amusement.

“The two of you!” Raven pointed at one, and then the other. “Are plotting something!” Raven stomped her feet. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“It’s really no big deal,” Karl said, shrugging his shoulders though he quickly showed his phone in his front pocket, the position making sure that Raven wouldn’t reach for it, the risk of touching Karl’s dick far too great.

“If it’s no big deal,” Raven hissed, getting all up in his face, her nail inches from his nose, “Then fucking tell me!”

Karl looked at Raja, who sighed and threw her hair over her shoulder.

“Karl thinks that he might be able to get me some modeling offers. But nothing’s sure, so I wasn’t going to say-”

“I fucking knew it!”

“Yeah, because I said it in front of you.” Karl reminded her. “No one is keeping secrets here,”

“Please don’t be mad princess.” Raja reached out, gently booping Raven’s chin. “I just didn’t want to have a discussion until there was a real offer.”

“Which there will be, tomorrow,” Karl said, holding up his hand for a fist bump, his drunken brain thinking it was a genius idea. Raja ignored him, keeping her fingers on Raven’s chin.

“Oh?” Raven moved her head, violently shaking Raja’s hand off of her. “So I retire,” Raven pushed Raja’s shoulder. “have your babies,” Raven pushed her again, “and suddenly you’re back in the game? You’re back to being a fucking model?”

“Baby, what are you-”

“Ugh!” Raven threw her hands up, spun on her heel and stomped away, leaving only anger behind, though Raja was sure she also saw tears.

“What the fuck is her problem?” Karl frowned, clearly not knowing Raven anywhere near as well as Raja did.

“I don’t know,” Raja bit her lip, “but I have a feeling it’s about to be mine too.”

/////

Fame was furious. It was her birthday night, and if there was one thing the night hadn’t been, it was about her. It seemed like everyone had some sort of drama going on, people fighting everywhere she looked, except Juju and Detox, who were disgustingly happy, the two of them slow dancing together on the dance floor, Detox feeling Juju’s ass up without a care in the world. Sutan and Violet had disappeared after Bianca’s little shit show, who had gone from her normal mean drunk with an extra side of bitch, to blackout in the last half hour. If Fame wasn’t already so irritated with her, she might have been worried. Then there was the stupid fight between Adore and the usually well-behaved Alaska, the blonde so out of control towards the end that Fame found herself scanning the club for the nearest security guard. Jinkx had kept it under control, Karl simply watching it all burn and Raven was nowhere to be found either. When Fame had tried to capture Raja’s attention, her friend had barely been able to focus on her.

Another year had passed, and no one had even considered to light a sparkler, sing happy birthday for her, or even order her an extra large, incredibly intricate and fancy drink.

Fame sighed, a headache threatening to burst out of her skull. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered.

The only part of the night that felt right, had felt right the entire way through, was Patrick, her husband wrapping her jacket around her, kissing her cheek, taking her hand and Fame felt a rush of gratitude as he took her from the club.

/////

Sutan couldn’t really explain how they had moved from the balcony to the floor beside the bed, the whole thing happening so fast, Violet practically crumbling before he eyes the moment he had told her she cared.

“Violet...”

Sutan touched Violet’s back, his girlfriend’s knees drawn all the way up to her face, her arms flung over her legs, holding them tight. She didn’t flinch away, instead leaning all the way into his touch, and Sutan moved her a little, Violet practically falling against his side, her legs falling down, until she was fully supported by Sutan, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I care…”

“What?” Sutan could barely hear her, and he wanted to make sure he had heard right, that he had understood what Violet said.

“I care, but I..” Violet looked up at him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t either.” Sutan touched Violet’s face, gently cupping her chin. Violet didn’t freak out, didn’t start hyperventilating, and Sutan felt a fraction of the pressure on his shoulders lift.

“I’m scared, and I...” Violet stopped, and Sutan waited, his girlfriend pressing her face against his neck. “I’m scared but I…” Violet gently touched Sutan’s chest. “I’ve seen how you are with..”

“With who?”

“Tanya and Isolde.”

Sutan stopped breathing for a second, unsure where the conversation was going.

“You’re so good with them, and I... I think you could make a really good dad.” Violet pulled back. “You’re a good man Sutan. Better than I deserve. Better than-” Violet bit her lip. “You’re kind, you’re caring, you’re… You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me…” Sutan could see Violet’s face, see her eyes, see the set of her lips and the worry in her gaze, but most importantly, the love. “I don’t know what to do, but I know...” Violet touched Sutan’s leg. “I know that you would be a fantastic dad.”

Sutan kissed Violet’s forehead, his girlfriend closing her eyes. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew that they would figure it out together.

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artificialqueens · 6 years

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Leather and Lace: Chapter 3 (Shalaska, side Trixya) - dandelionprophets

A/N: HS Shalaska AU where Alaska is a pretty cheerleader and Sharon is an outcast. Chapter one, chapter two.

In this chapter two very different groups reluctantly come together.

Sharon feels nervous again on Monday, and she wonders if this is going to be a regular thing now. Alaska is early, like her, and she walks in on her own. She is not wearing her cheerleading outfit for once, instead wearing a black skater skirt on grey tights, with a woolen pink sweater that clashes horribly with her bright red nails. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and it looks a bit like she just rolled out of bed. Sharon forcibly moves her thoughts away from Alaska in bed, instead smiling at her and waving slightly. To her surprise, Alaska foregoes her usual seat and sits down right next to Sharon.

“Hi! I was thinking, since we have to pair up often anyways, it’s easier to just sit next to each other.” Alaska says, smiling brightly. Sharon is pretty sure they haven’t had to pair up except for the frog debacle, but she finds herself nodding anyway.

“How was the clean-up on Saturday?” Sharon asks once Alaska gets settled.

“Oh, I just hired a cleaning company. If anything is less than pristine when Daddy gets home he’ll go berserk.” Alaska rolls her eyes, and Sharon tries not to smile at the fact that Alaska is such a fucking cliché.

“So when is he coming back?”

“Hmm, not for a month or so… I think he’s in China right now.”

“Wait, really?” Sharon frowns, “You’re on your own for more than a month?” The idea of Alaska all alone in that giant mansion makes Sharon feel instantly sad. Sharon still remembers when she heard the news that Alaska’s mom had died, six years ago. She was 11 at the time, and of course everyone in school knew about it instantly. Alaska didn’t go to school for weeks, and when she came back she talked to no-one except Willam and Courtney. Sharon thinks the memory of those empty, haunted brown eyes will stay with her forever. It was the first time she had felt empathy for Alaska, the first time she saw her as a real person instead of as a popular barbie doll she despised.

“It’s fine,” Alaska shrugs it off, bringing Sharon back to the present, “How was the drive back? Did you guys get home okay?”

Sharon thinks about the drive back, where she had been relegated to the backseat, having to listen to Katya flirt with Trixie the whole ride. She probably would have been more upset if she hadn’t gotten that hug from Alaska before she left.

“Yeah, Trixie and Katya are becoming very friendly with each other,” Sharon hints. She doesn’t want to out anybody, but she also wants Alaska to know that she’s not alone.

Alaska, however, is completely oblivious. “That’s so nice! It’s so hard being new at school.”

Willam and Courtney walk in, and they pause for a second when they see Alaska sitting next to Sharon. They share a look, shrug their shoulders, and take the two seats next to Alaska. Willam looks over at Sharon suspiciously, her eyes squinted.

“So why did you crash the party Friday?” Willam asks, a hostile undertone in her voice. “I never see you at parties.”

Sharon is about to bite back when Alaska quickly says, “I invited her.”

“I think it’s nice that you and Katya came!” Courtney chimes in, shooting Willam a look. “You guys are really cool.”

Courtney looks at Sharon earnestly, and Sharon is at a loss for words.

“Thanks, Courtney,” she says, a genuine smile forming on her lips.

Willam looks from Courtney to Sharon, and finally at Alaska, nodding to herself.

“Yo Lasky, can I copy your homework real quick?” Willam then asks, already grabbing Alaska’s homework. Courtney rolls her eyes fondly and shares a look with Sharon, as if they’ve all been friends for years.

On Tuesday, Sharon walks into the canteen looking for Katya and sees her sitting with Trixie, Willam, Courtney, and Alaska. Feeling like she stepped into an alternate dimension, she makes her way to the group. Alaska immediately makes room between her and Katya, and everyone smiles at her as she sits down. Sharon supposes this is her life now. Eating lunch with blond cheerleaders who use glitter as eyeshadow.

“Sharon, we were just discussing that we really want to go to one of your parties,” Courtney tells her. Apparently, Katya’s crazy stories actually made her interesting to Willam and Courtney, and now they see her as a gateway to an interesting life filled with drugs and wild parties.

“Uh, I don’t throw parties,” Sharon says.

“No, ones you go to,” Courtney clarifies, “like actual college parties.”

“Yeah, don’t those dykes you guys hang out with throw crazy parties?” Willam chimes in. Sharon feels Alaska completely freeze up next to her, jaw locked and looking down, and she wonders how her supposed best friends are so fucking oblivious. Sharon is ready to go in on Willam, but surprisingly, Courtney speaks first.

“I don’t think you should use that word, Willam,” she says, and Sharon, Alaska, Katya, and Trixie all turn to Courtney, their mouths wide agape. Sharon wonders if Courtney realizes she is saying that in front of two, probably three, possibly four, lesbians.

“What, why?” Willam asks, “Is this because we made out on Friday?”

“You guys made out on Friday?!” Alaska screams.

“No not because of that,” Courtney says, her cheeks turning red. “But. It’s a slur. People use it to bully lesbians. So we shouldn’t say it. Right guys?”

Courtney glances around the table, looking for support, and everyone nods along with her.

“Yeah, great point Court,” Trixie says, smiling at her friend.

“Alright fine!” Willam gives in, throwing her hands in the air. “But when are we going to a college party?”

“Well, not this week,” Alaska says, “The cheer rally is on Friday! You guys are coming, right?” She looks expectantly at Sharon and Katya, and Sharon can’t help but make a face. Cheer rallies are everything she hates about this school. Those jocks, those cheerleaders, with the exception of the ones at the table she’s sitting at, have always been the ones picking on her, the ones that made her feel like a freak. She doesn’t want to cheer for those fuckers, she doesn’t want to join in on that social hierarchal bullshit.

“No way,” she says resolutely.

“But it’s going to be my first time cheering with the team!” Trixie says, and Katya smiles at her before turning to Sharon.

“We could go?” she says, and Sharon rolls her eyes. Katya is way too far gone. She then makes the mistake of looking at Alaska, who is watching her with dark brown puppy-dog eyes and a slight pout. Sharon can already feel her resolve slipping.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” she settles on, but Alaska smiles at her as if she just promised to dress up in the school colors, wave the school flag and make signs spelling out Alaska’s name. And who is she kidding, if Alaska asked she probably would.

It turns out Sharon has her next class with Willam, and they walk to the classroom together. Sharon’s defenses are all the way up, but Willam seems to be completely comfortable, the look of suspicion from earlier this week gone.

Sharon studies Willam, trying to figure her out, and as a result, she bumps into some football player.

“Watch out you fucking dyke freak,” the guy hisses at her. Before Sharon can so much as roll her eyes, Willam grabs him by the arm.

“What the fuck did you just call her?” Willam demands, and Sharon’s mouth drops open.

“Yo Willam what the fuck, everyone knows that she- that she’s a-“ the guy sputters, clearly surprised at Willam’s reaction.

“And everyone knows that you lost your virginity to your cousin, but I don’t go around calling you names,” Willam says, releasing the guy and walking away from him. Sharon shares a baffled look with the jock and then hurries to catch up with Willam.

“What the fuck?” she asks her, not knowing what else to say.

“What?” Willam says casually, studying her manicure, “I thought we weren’t supposed to say that word anymore.”

Sharon stands still for a moment before following Willam into their classroom, and she wonders what the hell is happening with her life right now.

At the end of their classes, Katya tries to convince Sharon to sit on the bleachers during cheer practice.

“No, it’s weird now that we actually know them,” Sharon says.

“It was way creepier when you were just stalking her, Sharon.” Katya tells her, pulling on her arm, “Plus, I promised Trixie we’d be there, so she can practice performing in front of an audience.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Sharon gives in. They walk to the field, and they are a bit late, the practice already in session. They take a seat pretty close to the field, and both Trixie and Alaska wave enthusiastically at them, not looking surprised that they are there. The rest of the team doesn’t look surprised either, but they don’t look as happy as Trixie and Alaska to see them. Courtney and Willam both give them a wave and a smile, but the rest of the cheerleaders look a bit like the shit under their shoe just walked in.

Katya sits facing the field, eyes on the cheerleaders, not even lighting up a blunt, and Sharon carefully follows her example. She watches them dance, watches them laugh with each other, watches Alaska flip her ponytail, watches Alaska fall when doing a cartwheel, watches Alaska’s skirt being stuck in her top after she gets up, and feels like creep.

“This is weird!” She complains to Katya.

“Seriously? Sneaking looks out of the corner of your eye was not weird, and actually being invited to watch is weird?”

“Well, now she knows that I’m watching her,” Sharon insists.

“Yes, that’s what makes it less weird,” Katya says very slowly, as if talking to a child. “Besides, see this as practice for the cheer rally.”

“I’m not going to that,” Sharon says automatically, and Katya chuckles.

“Sure you’re not.”

Sharon watches the rest of the practice trying to be more relaxed, even smiling at Alaska when she catches her eye. She looks over at Katya and sees her staring at Trixie with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“So how’s that going?” Sharon asks her, elbowing her side.

“We declared our undying love for each other and are ready to run away together.” Katya says, “Preferably to Hawaii.”

Sharon’s eyebrows shoot up, “Seriously?”

“In my mind we have.” Katya pulls her knees up and rests her chin on them. “In reality, there’s an 84% chance I’m barking up the wrong Barbie,”

“Well stay away from my Barbie,” Sharon can’t help but say. Katya immediately turns to her, a devilish grin on her face.

“Well look at you finally admitting your crush! No need to be territorial Sharon, I won’t corrupt your precious princess.”

Sharon growls at her.

When the cheerleading practice is finished, Alaska and Trixie walk up to them, taking a seat on the bleachers with their backs to the field, facing Sharon and Katya.

“Hey, thank you for coming,” Trixie smiles, mostly looking at Katya.

“Of course bitch! I promised!” Katya punches Trixie on the arm, and Sharon takes a moment to internally criticize Katya’s flirting skills.

“Did you have fun?” Alaska asks Sharon.

“Not really my cup of tea. You were good though,” Sharon answers, and promptly realizes she doesn’t really have any right to criticize Katya.

“No I wasn’t, I was horrible as always,” Alaska says, a smile still on her face. “But it’ll be much better Friday, you’ll see,” Sharon rolls her eyes at the implication, but understands that resistance is futile.

“I’m so nervous for Friday,” Trixie says, “I’m sleeping over at Alaska’s on Thursday so we can spend Friday morning practicing.”

“You’re going to take lessons from her?” Sharon asks incredulously, and Alaska makes a small affronted noise and pushes her lightly.

“Oh by the way, Trixie, I do have to mention that I can’t really cook. Anything.” Alaska says, sheepishly smiling at Trixie. “I mean, I can try, but I may burn the house down.”

“You can’t cook?” Sharon asks, “Then how do you eat in the month you’re home alone?”

“I don’t know… I just eat a sandwich, or I order pizza.” Alaska says, twirling her ponytail around her finger.

“Okay, I’m going to teach you how to make pasta so you don’t die from scurvy,” Sharon says, immediately worried about Alaska’s health. Sharon has been cooking for years, used to not having a meal on the table if she doesn’t. Alaska smiles at that like Sharon just gave her a great idea.

“Hey! Why don’t both of you come over on Thursday, and you can teach us then!” Alaska proposes, clapping her hands.

“I’m free!” Katya says eagerly. “If Trixie’s okay with it?”

“I’m good with any plan that involves me not having to eat Alaska’s burned food,” Trixie says, grinning at Katya.

“Sharon?” Alaska asks, looking at her expectantly, fluttering her long dark lashes. Not for the first time, Sharon feels it’s almost unfair how beautiful Alaska is.

“Sure, why not,” Sharon says, shrugging.

“Well don’t sound too fucking enthusiastic Sharon,” Katya rolls her eyes at her.

“That’s just her brand,” Alaska says, smiling at Sharon provokingly. Sharon scoffs at her but can’t help smiling back. Katya cackles and pokes her in the cheek.

“What’s so funny?” Courtney asks, her and Willam walking up the bleachers and joining them.

“Sharon’s insistence to hate everything,” Trixie says, and Sharon glares at her.

“I don’t hate everything,” Sharon defends herself. “I just hate most people.”

“No, see, that’s why I like you,” Willam says, pointing at her, “Your whole scary vibe. I dig it.”

The group stays on the bleachers for a while, chatting and laughing. Katya sparks up a joint and Courtney and Willam are very excited to try it, which results in a lot of coughing and giggling. Katya excitedly reassures Trixie about her dancing, and Sharon can’t help but notice the blush on Trixie’s cheeks. Courtney and Sharon talk about politics, and she is surprised to notice that Courtney has a lot of interesting ideas. Alaska and Katya apparently have the same weird taste in movies, and they spend ten minutes quoting lines to each other while the rest of the group looks on with confusion. Somehow, their weird little group is meshing, and for the first time ever, Sharon feels like she may have more than one friend.

When it gets later and the sun starts falling lower, Alaska shivers slightly, only her cheerleading outfit keeping her warm. Sharon hates herself, she really does, but she does the most cliché thing imaginable and she takes her leather coat off, draping it over Alaska’s shoulders wordlessly.

Alaska looks at her then, the orange glow of the setting sun painting her features, her brown eyes sparkling, her pink lips in a perfect smile. “Thank you, Sharon,” she says, and Sharon thinks that no moment can be more perfect than this.

#rpdr fanfiction #leather and lace #dandelionprophets #shalaska #tw homophobia #fluff #high school au #lesbian au #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #willam bellli #courtney act #submission

31 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 6 years

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Is Grey a Color [Biadore] Part 3 - Falling Snowflake

“I’m fainting.”

As soon as the words left Adore’s mouth, Bianca knew that they were both in trouble. She hastily grabbed the queen next to her, telling them to get anyone of the crew or judges. Too worried about what would happen, she didn’t even notice who she grabbed, only that Michelle suddenly stood before them.

Bianca looked at Adore, seeing the girl growing paler, and had difficulties standing up. Out of instinct, she wrapped her arms around her, but her knees were too weak and they were both just standing there about to hit the ground.

“Why doesn’t touching help?” Bianca could hear Adore whine, her words slurred. The older queen tried to respond, but her head was spinning. She honestly had no idea, she thought things would be fine. Fuck. They would have to go home now, didn’t they?

In a rush of things, suddenly Adore and Bianca found themselves alone in the untucked lounge except for a medic and a couple of the crew members. The medic checked on both of them, doing blood tests to check their bond status.

“Your bond is uneven,” he said. “Probably the most uneven I’ve seen yet. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have thought you were bonded at all.”

Bianca frowned at him, unable to understand was he was saying. He started going on and on about how their bonds had developed at different speeds, and that there was a possibility Adore might had a really rare bond-condition that made bonding a whole lot more complicated.

“Wha’?” Adore looked in confusion over at the medic, who glanced over at Bianca.

“Your bond has such trouble developing that it can be outright dangerous for you, and even more dangerous for your soulmate. If your bond doesn’t develop fully, but your soulmate’s does, it will feel like you are dead. For the rest of their life. In a worst case scenario, you could kill your soulmate.”

Bianca and Adore looked at each other, mouths agape. What the fuck? They just held each other’s gaze for a while, until Adore broke down in heavy sobs. Bianca glared at everyone in the room and hugged her tight.

“I think I’d consider removing the bond, if I were you,” the medic admitted, although it obviously pained him.

“Leave,” Bianca snapped at all of them, as Adore’s sobs got even heavier. None of them could think clearly, and none of them really wanted to think or speak about what the future would hold for them now.

Although it had went unsaid, both of them had pictured their future together as a normal bonded relationship. Now they apparently had to decide if they were going to be bonded at all, or if Bianca was going to die from bondbreak. Great.

RuPaul walked into the room, no one following for once. She told them that she had spoken to the medics about what had happened. If they wanted they could take a two-day break from filming, or they could go home.

“But,” she looked at them. “This is your last chance. More complications, and I’m afraid I have to send you home. It would break my heart to do so, but it would break my heart more if one of you – or both – got seriously injured because of this.”

They both nodded in understanding, though they didn’t really want to comprehend what Ru was saying.

“Yes please, the break would be great,” Bianca said, still holding Adore. As they managed to gather themselves a bit, they had to join the other girls in filming the ‘after the non-elimination’ segment. Bianca tried to be her usual self, but she really couldn’t. This was too much.

As all the filming stopped, and everyone were out of drag, Courtney spoke up.

“Michelle and Ru was going to send you guys home today,” he said to Danny and Roy, who just stared blankly at him. “We all protested. They couldn’t do that. Even Leah, Santino and the crew members backed you up.”

“More importantly, though,” Darienne looked at them. “What the fuck happened? You both looked okay, then the next second no one managed to get to you. Do you even remember grabbing Trinity and asking her for help?”

Roy just shook his head, continuing to pack his stuff slowly. As the others kept on asking him and Danny, Danny snapped at them.

“Okay, it’s none of your fucking business, okay?! A bond is very personal, and right now, what we’re going through?” Danny pointed between himself and Roy. “That is fucking hell! We got a message no newly bonded want to hear, and yet we had to hear it! Fuck it, we’re going to our room. If you have any questions, try RuPaul.”

Danny stormed off, dragging Roy with him without hesitating. Roy did follow him wordlessly, and both were miserable as they walked to their room once again. Maybe even for the last time, if they couldn’t figure things out.

Once they got into their room, they just sat there doing nothing. Not touching, not talking, not reading. Nothing. After 20 minutes, Danny broke the silence.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he whispered, looking at Roy. It was obvious that the boy was terrified, but honestly, Roy was too. “Should we break the bond?”

Silence filled the room again, and the two queens looked at each other. They had to make the right decision for both themselves and each other. Roy nodded wordlessly.

They let out a simultaneous sob as they hugged each other. Roy, not being one to cry, clutched him harder than he thought possible. He didn’t want to let Danny go, but he couldn’t put his life on the line here. They could still be friends, right?

No one wanted to let go of one each other, but when they did, their lips met in a passionate kiss. “I-I’m so sorry,” Danny managed to get out through the sobs, only resulting in more crying on either side.

Roy swallowed and nodded. “It’s not your fault, we’ll be friends. Maybe more later on?”

There were no more words shared that night, no more touches, and no sleep. Only tears and heavy thoughts about what the next day would bring. The day when they would both go back from colors, and the world would be just that little bit duller.

As the alarm clock went off the next day, they got out of bed wordlessly and got ready to head over to the medics. They needed to break the bond as soon as possible, because if Roy’s got stronger, removing the bond could be almost just as dangerous as keeping it.

Ultimately, the process was quick and painless. They were handed colorcontacts, as to not give it away to the viewers. Roy nodded gratefully and went back to the hotel. He asked one of the crew members if he was back in his old room, and they nodded. No more sleeping Danny, he realized with a sad smile.

It was weird, he thought to himself. The world was so boring in black and white. His chest felt so empty without the constantly pull from the bond. His mind felt so emotionless with Danny’s feelings gone.

“Fuck,” Roy sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. “I can’t let this get to me.”

The two days went by slowly, and Roy had done literally nothing but sketching and writing and reading. Anything to get his mind off of Danny.

When his alarm went off, and when he woke up to a world in greys once again, he felt endlessly disappointed. He put in his colorlenses, grimacing at how dull all the colors were. Fuck, he missed those green eyes and pink lips. He missed the soft pale skin under his fingers, and he missed his grumpy morning face.

Shaking his head, Roy went to find some clothes. Today they were going back to the werk room, and he would have to see Danny again. Because he was both nervous and annoyed, he didn’t really care much about what he wore. He just found something and put it on, looking at himself in the mirror. It both felt, and looked, as if something were missing.

He supposed it wouldn’t get much better, so he started walking to the werk room. He noticed that he was the first to arrive at their meeting place, so he waited. Then Shane showed up, looking curiously at him then pointing next to him with a frown. Ray shook his head with a sad smile, and Shane hugged him tight.

“It will be okay, you know,” Shane said. “You’ll find your way back together. You’re soulmates for a reason. Maybe you can’t be together right now, but so what? Maybe it will work even better when you’re out of here?”

“I certainly hope so,” Roy said, shrugging and accepting the hug. They didn’t get to talk much more than that, as Danny showed up. It was obvious that he was even more affected than Roy by this whole thing. He looked visibly depressed, and he didn’t even glance at Roy. Roy felt like hugging him and holding him tight, whispering words of encouragement into his ears, and telling him how perfect he was.

His train of thoughts were stopped as Shane started talking to Danny, and Roy blocked them both out. It was awkward, so he started talking with Ben as soon as he showed up. Once everyone was there and they were cleared to go, Roy let everyone else walk in before him. He didn’t want any cameras to zoom in on him and his sad ass.

Even though Danny looked more affected than him when only he and Shane had been there, Danny now looked completely unaffected, even joking along with Ben and laughing at jokes. Somehow, that made Roy even more irritable, and he was afraid that his mood would get the best of him.

And it didn’t take long before it did. One ‘okaaaaay’ from Laganja, and he was rolling his eyes, and when Laganja called him ‘mama’, he snapped at her, telling her that his name was Bianca. Luckily, the fight didn’t escalate as they were saved by the bell.

“Thank you Jesus,” Roy said, noticing how Danny’s laugh filled both the room and his ears. He wanted to hear more, so he just kept going. “Let’s roll, Mama!”

The mini-challenge was not really one to please Roy. Not only did he have to show off his lipsyncing abilities while lying on his back, upside down, he also had to watch Danny’s lips move through a whole song. He gritted his teeth, wanting to kill every single one of those bitches in the room. First of all, they were staring at his Danny’s lips, and second of all, he couldn’t kiss Danny’s lips. The whole thing made him even more grumpy, and he was scared for the main challenge.

Joslyn was announced the winner, and when the main-challenge was announced, Roy grinned. It was stand-up. He could do that. Perhaps it would even get his mind off of Danny for a little while too. It was a bit unsettling that the challenge came at his worst, but he supposed it might be good too. The more annoyed he was, the better his insults and comebacks were.

Roy tried writing down some jokes, but he knew that he was terrible at it. It just wasn’t his style. He couldn’t observe the audience as he wrote the jokes, so he found it extremely difficult. Suddenly he didn’t feel so confident anymore. What if this went horribly? What if he was one of the worst? What if they didn’t get his humor?

“All right, ‘Courtney is an asshole’,” he said, trying to lighten the mood slightly, but most of all to get a reaction from Danny. “Oh my god, that’s a guaranteed laugh.” Shane laughed and Danny smiled, so he was pretty satisfied.

After this, Roy started bickering a bit with Courtney and Joslyn, actually enjoying himself a little bit. Even the small distractions were small distractions. Especially when it was shady shade.

No one said anything for a while, but when Roy noticed Ben talking to himself and making gestures, he couldn’t help himself. He asked what he was doing, just to start a small conversation out of curiosity. After a bit of a passive aggressive fight between Darienne and Ben, the room was once again filled with tense silence.

Looking over at Danny, seeing how cute he was, Roy decided to at least try saying something to him.

“Adore,” he said, almost feeling nervous. “Are you gonna write material or are you just gonna write a card for guidelines saying ‘cool, awesome, chola, my mom, Libra’?” Joslyn added ‘Party’, so Roy added that as well with a laugh. Danny smiled at him and Roy felt happier immediately, but at the same time his heart was breaking even more.

“Fuck off,” Danny responded. “Fuck all the way off.”

Even though Roy knew that Danny didn’t mean it like that, both his smile and happiness dabbed down. He wanted Danny to sit on his lap and ask him what to do, and if this joke was funny enough, or if he had mentioned that he was a Libra enough times.

Roy wanted that more than he could describe, but he knew that it wouldn’t happen. Mostly because it was still too sore and too real for them, but also because you were advised not to touch your soulmate within the first week of removing your bond. This to make sure that you did not disturb the process, but it sort of made Roy even angrier about the whole thing.

Shane offered him with a pretty good distraction, though, by letting it known that Laganja was nowhere to be seen. And where was the bitch? Under a fucking table! Probably pretending to be a girl scout in a tent with a bonfire, topped off with that stupid no-smoking sign on her head. Because obviously, the attention whore needed more attention.

“I love it,” Roy said, probably sounding and looking as if he had seen it all and given up on life. “She’s under the table.”

Apparently, Roy wasn’t too far off about the girl scout-comment. Laganja was supposedly channeling her inner child by pretending to be in a tent and writing by herself. Great. He looked over at Danny, seeing utter shock on the boy’s face. Roy made a grimace as Laganja kept making these phrases, and turned back to his material.

Thankfully, RuPaul interrupted them all by walking into the room. They all greeted him as he went around the room to talk to everybody. Unfortunately, Roy was number two to be asked, and he smiled at Ru when he came over.

“Well, hello, miss Bianca!” Ru said, and Roy grinned at him, pretending to be a lot happier than he actually felt.

“Everyone’s looking to you to be the standout in this challenge. Does that make you nervous?”

Roy pulled a face, thinking about what to reply. Of course he was a bit nervous when everything he could think of was Danny Noriega, and how he couldn’t even touch him in the slightest.

“Concerned, yeah,” is what he ended up saying, deciding that he should probably not keep it dark and depressing and cheesy, and also spoiling the whole secret. They talked a bit of how Bianca’s insulting humor worked, but also about how he had helped others.

Only thinking about it made his heart shatter a tiny bit more, thinking about Adore’s – well his – cincher, so when RuPaul asked him who had helped him, he answered with humor. As usually.

“Well, they’re all helping me out by being horrible and making me look better. And I’m not just a nasty cunt, I will help them pack to go home. I mean, you don’t even got to fold some of the shit they’re wearing. You just ball it up. ‘Put that in bag number 5, bitch. Get to steppin’.’”

RuPaul left him, and Roy could see that Danny was staring at him. He smiled slightly out him, and the other boy turned around. Roy did get it, he really did. It hurt him too. On top of it all, Danny was probably feeling very guilty about the whole thing too.

He sat there, looking at Danny the entire time until RuPaul called them over to the middle of the room, dropping the bomb that they were going to perform for an elderly audience. Roy was a bit concerned, he hoped they liked a good ol’ rude bitch. Danny looked terrified though, and Roy smiled in amusement. Danny’s vocabulary wasn’t very wide aside from ‘fuck’ and ‘party’.

However, this was not the time to worry about Danny. He needed to worry about himself first. With a sigh, he went back to his place next to Shane and kept thinking about what to do.

As he was fixing his wig, Joslyn decided to tell all the queens the order they were going to perform in. He was going last, which was great, he would definitely leave in impression. He just had to make sure that it was a good impression.

The day of the stand-up show had arrived, and as they were doing their makeup, Darienne decided to ask Roy if he was worried, to which he replied that he didn’t know. Then when Darienne asked him what his worst nightmare was, Roy told him that it was sitting next to him, like they were doing right then.

“You’re like evil nice, like what’s with that?” Danny started saying, and Roy didn’t know whether he should be happy or sad. “Like you can’t help you ‘cause you’re helpful and you’re sweet, but you’re truthful, but you’re a dick.”

Anyway, Roy was pretty happy that Danny was talking to him at all, so he replied in a light-hearted manner. “Now, if you had said that on day one, I would have been your friend. It’s amazing we get this close and you’re leaving today!”

He realized he did let the anger shine through a bit, but he hoped Danny understood that he didn’t actually mean it. Danny let out a confused ‘what’ before Roy started laughing, and Danny told him that he hated him. It was all goodhearted, but only Roy and Danny knew how much pain that conversation caused them both on the inside.

With that, the conversation ended, leaving a really empty space in Roy’s chest where the usual pull from the bond should be tight and prominent. Now it just wasn’t there, and that was even worse. The rest of the queens, except for Shane, probably thought they were just bickering as soulmates.

The actual stand-up show went alright, according to Bianca. Darienne did better than expected, Adore didn’t do well, but she didn’t do horribly, and the same for Courtney. Trinity actually did really good, and Bianca was almost a bit proud. However, Joslyn was horrible. At least the audience wouldn’t be expecting too much from her after that performance.

Bianca had even had time to observe the audience a bit, so she felt like she did have a slight upper-hand as she went on stage. She went with her guts, and by a miracle, they all laughed. Somehow, maybe a cranky, rude, annoyed bitch was exactly what these people needed. Someone brutally honest.

At the end of the judges’ critiques, she felt good about herself. She felt beautiful in this classic Bianca look, and they told her that she did great and that she was the real thing. There was a huge possibility she could win this. They went to the untucked lounge, and had a pretty good time. They watched a video from Joslyn’s fiancé, and talked a bit amongst themselves.

Bianca, however, still had a lot of unresolved anger. That’s why she decided that she needed to talk to Laganja about the bullshit they had gone through when Laganja got a message from her parents. It didn’t really go that well, and Bianca should probably have felt bad, but she didn’t. Not in that moment.

Laganja went on and on about feeling attacked, and when Adore told Laganja that she wasn’t herself, she freaked out. She started talking about wanting to go home, and at that point, Bianca was ready to pack her suitcases and escort her away herself. Fuck that bitch.

They were called back to the main stage, where it was revealed that Bianca was the winner. Bianca felt a ton of relief, but she still felt a little bad that she hadn’t helped Adore anything at all. She could at least have given her some pointers.

Laganja and Joslyn ended up lipsyncing, and when Laganja had to leave, Bianca felt like smirking. Out of respect, and because she was a professional, she didn’t, but she wanted to. God only knows how much she wanted to. She danced a bit with Trinity before going back to the werk room with the others.

As soon as she saw the ‘xoxo Ganja’ on the mirror, she felt like jumping up and down in circles. Almost like Raja that time she won that challenge in season 3. Bianca didn’t actually hate Laganja, not really, but she was fucking annoying, and now there was one bitch less. One less bitch to beat before she could get her crown.

The other queens, mostly Adore, Courtney and Trinity, talked about how it ended, and Bianca was totally fine with it. That was until Trinity hinted to it being Bianca’s fault. God, why couldn’t people see that she was in a bad mood?

It did seem like Joslyn noticed though, as she congratulated her for winning the challenge. That made Bianca go through an array of emotions at once, and everything came out at the same time. It was probably confusing as shit, but she hoped she just seemed happy about winning with a sarcastic voice.

She shrugged it off and started getting out of drag, totally ready for their next challenge. Once he was done, he walked off without a word, going to him room. Roy needed some time alone, and preferably without Danny nearby.

It was as if lightning suddenly struck him, because Roy couldn’t breathe or think. He was lonely, he was heartbroken, he was confused, and he was upset. Unable to sleep, he laid awake and stared at the ceiling most of the night, only falling asleep an hour or two before he had to get up again.

As he got up the next day, he didn’t feel any better. This was painfully obvious the whole fucking day, even though he did do pretty alright in the hungman-challenge. The main-challenge however, just, no. It was a good concept, he was excited, but he somehow missed the mark completely on time management and didn’t have any time left to interview Georgia. Great job, Bianca. Real good!

Trying to forget about the whole thing, Roy put all of his thoughts and efforts into his animal kingdom outfit, trying to make it as detailed and beautiful as possible. He was pretty sure he did it quite well, but you can never know what Michelle Visage is going to say.

While they were in the untucked lounge, Adore was completely sure she was in the bottom two, and Bianca just wanted to hug her. She couldn’t, though, so she just stared from afar, hoping that she wasn’t right.

Adore had been right, though, and Bianca was probably feeling almost just as sad as Adore when they announced it. Especially since she was going up against Trinity, who had become a friend of Bianca.

The lipsync was fierce, sexy, and just incredibly fucking hot. Everybody’s pussies were on fire, especially Ru’s, and Adore got to stay. Bianca was truly happy for her, hoping and longing for her to come back to her again.

Adore stared back at her and shook her head before going back to the werk room, leaving Bianca to stand there in silence. A single tear fell down her cheek.

- Falling Snowflake

#biadore #falling snowflake #is grey a color #angst #soulmate au #bianca del rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #on set fic #canon compliant

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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it’s getting late (to give you up) (Biadore) - humanveil

A/N: Trying out rpdr fic for the first time, so I hope you like it! It’s 1.4k and also posted here.

Summary: There is something ethereal about the way Adore looks in the early morning light, and Roy is most definitely done for.

Adore stumbles through the hotel door sometime between five and six in the morning, and Roy thinks a lot of things when he sees her, but mostly he just thinks fuck.

She’s still dressed in last night’s drag, only the makeup is smudged now, her tights littered with more rips than before, and when Roy checks, the wig looks fucking abysmal. Strands are clumped together, sticking every which way, and he makes a mental note to fix it before they leave because he knows Adore probably won’t.

Adore smiles when she seems him—her face lighting up like someone’s flicked a fucking light switch. She stands in the open doorway, staring. Light shines behind her, the glow of the hallway making her look more like a silhouette to Roy than an actual person, and he has to squint, has to turn his head away.

“Shut the fucking door,” he says, and Adore does, though her smile doesn’t fade. She kicks off the heels she’s got on, not caring where they end up, and Roy can feel the groan press at the back of his teeth. “Bitch,” he mutters, because he knows that’ll likely be his job, too.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. God fucking knows he shouldn’t be. Adore’s a messy bitch—Roy had learnt that way back when they’d first met. He’s just tired—tired and grouchy and worked up from spending so much time in close proximity with Adore again. He’d left the post-show drinking party early; had claimed to want to get some actual sleep—and he’d meant it, only he’s been lying in bed awake for close to three fucking hours now, his mind racing as he definitely didn’t worry about where Adore’s been or what she’s done.

Adore shimmies out of the worst of her clothing, and Roy listens as she stumbles around her side of the room; darting in and out of the bathroom to clean herself up. She calls out, tells him not to look, and Roy snorts before obediently closing his eyes.

“Wouldn’t want to, anyway,” he says, and he can hear Adore huff in response.

“Liar,” Adore says. She’s standing at the foot of Roy’s bed, now—dressed in little more than a pair of boxer shorts and looking more like Danny than his drag counterpart. Roy doesn’t know what she’s doing, and when she starts to kneel on his bed, her knees sinking into the mattress, he can’t help but look on confused.

“Whatcha doing, chola?” he asks, quieter than he’d meant to. Adore just continues to smile. She crawls her way forward, settles on the mattress next to him as soon as she’s able—too close, Roy thinks, but there’s not much he can do about it.

Their room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the rising sun outside the only light source. It doesn’t offer much, but it manages to cast Adore in a soft, blue-toned glow. Roy stares, swallows; his eyes transfixed on Adore’s chest, on the scattered tattoos and the way her body moves with rhythmic breathes. She looks rather beautiful, Roy thinks, but he pushes that thought away before it can even fully manifest. Thinking of Adore—of how she looks, of how he feels about how she looks—that’s dangerous territory. Roy knows from experience.

“Been thinking,” Adore says, and she kicks her way under the blanket, leans into his personal space, revels in the warmth of his body. The words are slurred, but Roy doesn’t think it’s from alcohol. It’s more like exhaustion.

He snorts again. “You? Thinking? That’s new.”

Adore whacks him, but it’s only playful—she’s still smiling. “Mmhmm.” She rubs her cheek against the pillow, cat like. “About what they said—about us.”

Roy stills at that, but he tries not to make it obvious. He’d hoped Adore hadn’t heard it—Courtney’s quip about them acting like a couple had hit a little too close, and Roy had left the second he’d been able to. It wasn’t what she’d said that made him uncomfortable—he and Adore were close, and Adore was the closest thing to a soft spot as Bianca would ever get—it was the way the words had resonated that had got to him, the way the whole room had reacted; agreement, affirming nods, jokes about how it was a little late to be picking that up now. They’d said that he and Danny were like a couple, that Roy was like an overprotective mother hen, and Roy had wanted to laugh it off, had wanted to deny it with a scathing remark about how he hates the bitch, but it was like all his wit had left him, and all that’d remained was a sinking feeling in his gut—was a surge of guilt and panic and get out, get out, get out.

“They’re not wrong,” Adore continues, and she looks up at him, now; her eyes catching in the light. There is something about the way she looks, Roy thinks—something beautiful and ethereal and utterly fucking heart-breaking. He can’t help but look at her, can’t help but stare when the tip of a pink tongue peeks out to wet dry lips, when the edge of a mouth pulls back to a smile; soft and gentle and something Roy has only ever seen directed at him. “You know they’re not,” Adore adds.

Again, Roy wants to play it off as a joke—serious isn’t what he’s good at, and the sweet intimacy of Adore’s voice is as frightening as it is endearing—but he gets that same feeling from back at the bar; like all his words have vanished, like he’s left with nothing, and he can’t fucking believe that this is happening now.

“So what if they’re not,” he says, because it’s the best he can fucking manage. The words have no bite to them, no anger or irritation. It’s a pathetic parrot of his usual self, and Roy wants to dig a whole to lay down and die in.

Adore is still looking, still staring. Her eyes are still on his, her expression one of deep thought. Roy doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look so thoughtful.

And then, so quick he hardly sees it coming, Adore is touching her mouth to his, is clutching onto the fabric of his nightshirt and pressing herself so close against him that Roy barely knows where he starts and where Adore begins. He is stunned still for a moment—can think little more than oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—but he kicks into gear at the first touch of a tongue, at the quiet wine from the back of Adore’s throat. He doesn’t pretend to not want it—he’d passed the denial stage so long ago it’s almost fucking embarrassing—just kisses Adore back with the same ferocity, with the same unveiled desperation.

“That’s why,” Adore says, and it barely makes any sense, but Roy doesn’t care, not when she looks so adorable.

“Adore—”

“Uh-uh,” Adore cuts him off, and Roy realises that she must think he’s going to argue. “You know they’re right,” she says again, and this time her hand trails up the curve of his neck, her fingertips resting against the underside of his jaw.

He looks down at her, tries to bite back his smile as she rambles on; words of conviction rolling off her tongue. “Adore—”

“It’s only a few more steps,” she says, speaking over him. “We just ha—”

“Adore,” Roy says for a third time, catching her wrist in his hand. He lets himself smile, now; the dimples forming in either cheek. “I’m not arguing, bitch.”

Adore shuts up at that, and Roy watches as the ball drops, as realisation slowly creeps its way across her expression. Her eyes light up—a shine of happiness he’s not ever seen before—and then Adore is kissing him again, is clawing at his body and moaning against his mouth, is mumbling about want and need and now, now, now.

Roy laughs, soft and breathy, and pulls her body above his; wraps his arms around her waist, holds on with an impossibly tight grip, and when Adore looks down at him, her larger than life smile back in place, Roy knows he’s completely and utterly fucked.

#humanveil #biadore #fluff #bianca del rio #adore delano #rpdr fanfiction #canon compliant

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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One Single Moment (Bitney) - Veronica

FIC CHALLENGE PROMPT #4 - RHYTHM, OCCASION, HATE

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything besides AU, but this prompt grabbed my attention and I figured it would be a fun way to get back to straight up canon-inspired drag queen fanfic. Hope you guys enjoy! XOXO, V

Summary - Roy gets inexplicably jealous when he sees Shane making out with a dude at a pride party, and turns into a miserable nightmare. Shane teases the truth out of him and they are both surprised by the results. Rating: Explicit

TW: heavy drinking, gay slurs (as used by Bianca Del Rio, not in a hate crime-y way)

I’m a slut for beta readers. So special thanks to my boo @toriibelledarling for her guidance with the initial concept and early intervention!! And of course, my Bitney idol, @artificialzeezee (anytime you come across a phrase and think “wow, I didn’t know V had literary skills…” I don’t. That was Z.) And the indispensable feedback from both @noxcounterspell and @wednesdayangeline !! And last but not least, @spokywrites for convincing me that I was smoking crack when I said I might not include smut. I love all you guys, thank you so much!! xoxo

Roy sits at the bar, pounding back shots, bitterness swirling around him like a dark cloud, trying to figure out where it all went wrong.

It had been such a good day - a great day. It was so rare nowadays for Bianca and Courtney to get booked together, so this Pride gig was one of the most fun they’d had in years. A day of constant insults, laughter and drinking. Three of her favorite things. And Courtney. Of course. Bianca started out the intro teasing her about her pants allergy, mocked her singing, and called her a washed-up wannabe Spice Girl, among other things. Courtney relished the attention, preening and blowing kisses and deflecting by telling Bianca she was a miserable old cunt, eyes glittering with joy.

Afterwards, they’d changed and hit the town, and it was like old times. The two of them, exploring the nightlife of an unfamiliar city, pushing their way through throngs of sweaty, exuberant crowds, gripping hands and bickering, and Roy couldn’t help glancing over, amused, at Shane, his face lit up with joy at the magic of Pride, like it was something he hadn’t experienced 50 times a year for the last decade.

Roy knew that he was kidding himself. When he repeated, over and over, that they were just friends. That this imaginary boundary he set for himself was sure to get crossed at some point. That the lingering glances, the fleeting fantasies, the hugs that lasted a little too long…it had to mean something. But he stuffed his feelings down, buried them deep, held them at bay with the next best thing. A profound, ride-or-die friendship, flirting just enough to get a small thrill but never crossing That Line. Exchanging all the banter and barbs and repartee of a 30s screwball comedy, only no happily ever after at the end. Convincing himself that he didn’t need that part, because he had his best friend. Which was more than enough, right?

And all it took was a moment, one moment, to destroy everything.

The club was a two story monstrosity with pounding bass and swirling lights. Shane hung on Roy’s arm, doing his typical thing, flirting with everyone who came within a 6-foot radius, begging Roy to dance. But Roy had another plan - drink until he felt happily buzzed, then, only once he’d put up a good fight, let Shane get his way, dragging him onto the dance floor. Where they’d be sandwiched together in the final ecstatic hour before closing, and Roy could stare into his gleaming eyes for a song or two, the dizzying lights and drunken crowd a perfect cover for an illicit, sweaty, not-quite-friends, not-quite-more embrace.

“Please?”

“I said no, you wretched cumbiscuit,” Roy countered, dimples deep in his cheeks, waving at the bartender again.

“Enough drinking, come dance,” Shane whined.

“I’ve only had two drinks, and I hate dancing…”

“You’ve PURCHASED two drinks, B. That dude over there bought us shots, and you also had drinks at dinner, and we’ve been to three other bars today where I’m pretty sure you were drinking–”

“So now you’re tracking my alcohol intake, asshole?” Roy feigned offense.

Shane giggled, tugging on his arm. “I’m just saying, I think you’re fully lubricated enough that you can handle a dance floor.”

“Lubricated?” Roy raised his eyebrow.

“Yes! Pleeeease…” Shane simpered.

“Mmmm…no.” Roy shook him off, tossing him a bunch of dismissive air kisses.

Shane pouted prettily. “Fine…I’ll just dance on my own then…” He pointed to the speakers, where Robyn’s ‘Dancing On My Own’ was playing.

Rolling his eyes, Roy lifted his glass in a toast. “Kismet!” he shouted, as Shane giggled and began to sing along, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oooh-ooh-ooh……I’ll keep dancing on my own…” He twirled, finding a group of girls in rainbow flower headbands to dance who shrieked happily, screaming, “OMIGOD, COURTNEY!”

“I’m gonna go pee!” Roy called out to him.

Shane made the “WHATEVER” sign, tongue out.

“MATURE, BITCH!” Roy shouted, shaking his head and laughing some more.

Roy couldn’t have been in the bathroom for more than five minutes. And that’s only because there was a line. But when he stepped out, Shane wasn’t with those girls anymore. He was on the far side of the dance floor, pressed up against the wall, making out with some dude. Some fucking man whore in rainbow mesh shorts, triceps bulging, the smooth tan skin of his back glowing with youth and vigor.

It was like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

And Roy could suddenly feel every drop of alcohol he’d had drowning him in adrenaline. All he saw, was Shane…his Shane, in the arms of this stranger; the shock of a new found possessiveness was nothing compared to the unjustified anger that nearly knocked him sideways.

And that’s the moment when everything suddenly changed. When seething, blinding hate for this person Roy had never met began to course through his veins like fire. When his heart pounded with rage, his chest tight with the kind of intense jealousy that left him gasping for air.

He turned back to the bar, ordering shots, one after the other, and as he downed them, in quick succession, as he went back over the day’s events, thinking about how everything can shatter in an instant. Love is bullshit. A figment of our adolescent delusions.

There’d been no promises made between them. Roy had to admit that, as he drowned his bitterness with more and more liquor. So why did that moment feel like such a betrayal? It had always seemed, for all their head games, for all their bullshit, that at least they were on the same page. But now…

He swallowed the last shot in one gulp, the pathetic thought echoing in his head like the worst mantra of all time, unanswerable and dripping with self-loathing…

What is wrong with me?

And now here he is. Drunk, angry, disoriented. Filled with the horrifying realization that he has somehow, without meaning to, fallen for one of his best friends. His best friend. Who hasn’t the faintest idea. Who is probably off fucking some 25 year old underwear model on a stairwell right now. Roy feels sick, shakes his mind free of that terrible imagery, but is left with something worse - his own feelings.

If he’s honest with himself, it isn’t the feelings that bother him - he’s known about that for ages, and made his peace with their fucked up, unrequited dynamic. It’s this suffering, this pitiful feeling of helpless, jealous rage, that is pissing him off. Because he knows that after tonight, after what he just saw, all of his courage is gone. He knows now that he’s not ever going to have the guts to do anything. To say anything. He’ll be trapped. Forever doomed to watch from the outside, always invited to the party, but never really part of it.

Circling his finger on the rim of his glass, he tries to think about anything else- he looks around the bar for someone else to think about, but no one compares to Shane, unfortunately. It’s horrendous, to know he’s stuck in this miserable state of–

“Hey!”

Roy rubs his eyes, looking up to see Shane standing in front of him, bright-eyed, like nothing has happened. Like it’s all just a normal, magical night at the club. Lips a bit swollen, courtesy of his little friend back on the dance floor. Slut. “Having fun?” Roy can’t help the nasty, bitter edge his voice has.

“Yeah. I wish you were. What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I dunno. Too many faggots, I guess.”

“Wow, Nice. Happy Pride!” Shane lifts his arms up, grinning. “Remember to save some of that festive spirit for the rest of us.”

“Ugh.”

“Seriously, where’d that winning smile disappear to?” Shane teases, poking him in the cheek. “Why do you look like such a morose dickhead?”

“Why are you such a fuckin whore?”

Shane raises his eyebrows, eyes dancing with laughter. Lips twisted in an infuriating smirk. “Ummmm…I dunno. That’s a good question. Maybe ‘cause it’s fun?”

Roy scoffs.

Shane leans in, whispering, “I have something really important to tell you, though.”

“Yeah, what?” Roy asks flatly.

Shane lifts a finger, pausing dramatically for a moment, and then sings breathily against his ear, along with the music, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me…”

Roy shakes him off. He can’t take the lighthearted flirting right now. It’s intended to make him smile, make him laugh, he knows this, but it’s doing the opposite. It’s making him want to scream, pound his fists on the table, to throw his glass against the wall.

“Na na na, come on…” Shane continues, taunting Roy, fingers dancing along the back of his neck as he moves his hips rhythmically against him.

“Stop it!”

Shane laughs. “Fine. You know what you are? You’re the Grinch who stole Pride!” He shimmies back over to the dance floor, once again immediately finding a group of people to dance with, tossing sultry glances back over his shoulder.

Roy groans into his drink. Getting drunk is a lot more fun when he doesn’t feel so miserable, and of course when he’s not pining over his best friend, who seems to be having the time of his life. Roy wishes he could feel the same excitement everyone seemed to be having - maybe he’s just getting too old for nights on the tear, watching everyone else get lucky. He manages to ignore him for awhile, takes a few photos with excited fans, managing to feign enthusiasm, until he feels hands on his waist, hot breath on his neck, Whitney being crooned in his ear.

“I need a man who’ll take a chance On a love that burns hot enough to last So when the night falls My lonely heart caaaaaaalls…”

Shane slides his hands up and down Roy’s back, and there’s a haunting electricity between them; that maybe had been there the whole time if Roy bothered to have acknowledged it before. Roy feels a shiver go through him as the blonde bites playfully at him, lips grazing his neck.

“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody I wanna feel the heat with somebody Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody With somebody who loves me…”

Roy glares at him. “Delightful. Shocking that you didn’t win Idol. It’s like Whitney’s come back from the dead.”

Shane giggles. “Why thank you, sir.”

“Pfff,” Roy scoffs, irritated.

He slings an arm around Roy’s shoulders. “So. Ready to join in the party yet, or still wanna sit here drowning your sorrows like a hateful old hag?”

“Hateful old hag is my aol screenname,” Roy shoots back, glowering at him.

“Aol? Damn, you are old!” Shane’s eyes twinkle. “Come dance.”

Roy raises his middle finger. “Go fuck yourself.”

Shane sighs. “It’s PRIDE! And it’s your birthday week! It’s a special occasion! What kind of gay man goes to Pride and doesn’t at least grind against a couple of cute guys at a club? Or, maybe just one particularly attractive blonde guy with a sexy aussie accent.”

Roy rolls his eyes, curses softly under his breath before managing to meet Shane’s eyes with a playful glare. “We’re fucking drag queens, you asshole. This is my fifth Pride this year, and I’m booked for 47 more. I think I’m good.” He isn’t even going to touch the fucking birthday comment. Another fucking year. Fabulous.

Shane laughs. “America’s next drag superstar…Bianca Del Rio!”

“Hey, I won the grand prize, not Miss Congeniality. So…” Roy tosses back the rest of his drink and catches the eye of the bartender, gesturing for another.

“Alright, well. Good luck with that drink. What’s that, number 22?” Shane tugs affectionately on his ear.

Roy slaps his hand away. “Stop it. I don’t know, I’m not fuckin counting.”

Shane’s eyes suddenly light up. “Britney!” He presses a wet kiss to Roy’s cheek, right by his ear, and skips back to the dance floor.

Roy accepts the fresh drink and takes a sip, closing his eyes. He turns around to give Shane some judgemental side-eye, and is met with a full-on Courtney performance, writhing and grinding to the heavy rhythm of the pounding bass, using boys from the dance floor as props.

“I’m a…slaaaave for you, I cannot hold it, I cannot control it I’m a…slaaaave for you, I won’t deny it, I’m not trying to hide it Baby, don’t you wanna, dance up on me…”

Roy grips his glass, seething. God, was he always so naive? Maybe in his 20s when the most important thing was getting a tan and not catching something from a club toilet, but he thought age had taught him to be cynical and unbreakable- a better, stronger person in his opinion. He wanted to be aloof with his emotions, but here he was with his heart on his sleeve, all because he saw his best friend kissing someone else. When did he acquire human feelings, and a real working lustful, loving heart?! He looks back into the crowd, seeing Shane in the midst of dozens of people’s heated desires, and he tries to arrange the cluttering within his mind to have a clearer focus on what feeling is the most prominent.

Of course Shane has no idea how this seductive little performance is the last fucking thing Roy needs. How what he perceives as some typical flirting, a little teasing to cheer up his friend in a bad mood, is actually driving him fucking crazy. Every flash of his eyes, every arch of his back, thrust of his hips. Hands running up his body, tongue slowly licking his lips…Shane is just being Shane. Just playing around, tossing invisible hair and pulling faces and Roy has no idea why it’s suddenly having this kind of effect on him.

The result, actually, is that Roy is getting angrier and angrier until he is literally fuming; smoke pouring out his ears, eyes turning red rage. After the last drink - another double shot, which he finishes in one gulp, slamming down the glass so hard it nearly breaks, he closes out his tab and slides off the stool, pulling on his sweatshirt and heading for the door, blood boiling.

He’s almost halfway down the block when he feels Shane’s hands grabbing him from behind. He groans. So much for his escape.

“Hey! Were you seriously going to abandon me back there?”

Roy doesn’t answer, keeps walking.

“Bianca!”

Roy shrugs him off. “It didn’t seem like you’d miss me.”

“Um, what the fuck, B? We’re alone in a strange city! What happened to the buddy system? This is how someone ends up dead in a ditch. You wanna leave, you have to at least tell me, so I know you’re okay…”

“Maybe I’m not okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fairly obvious.” Shane laughs. “So what’s your problem? You were fine earlier. Did you get bad news or something?”

“Just…drop it…”

“You used to be a lot more fun…” Shane pokes him in the side.

“You used to have a lot more hair.”

Shane pretends to be offended. “Low blow.”

“Yeah, well.” Roy looks away, striding down the street, hands deep in his pockets.

Shane prances beside him, pestering him. “Well, then, what’s the problem? Old man can’t hang in until closing? All that joy and celebration getting you down?”

“Shut up, Courtney.”

Shane laughs gaily, as a clap of thunder sounds and rain begins to fall.

“FUCK!”

Shane pulls Roy’s hoodie up over his head, tucking it around him in a maternal fashion. “Would you calm down? It’s just a little rain!”

“Yeah, well, I fucking hate the rain, and now we’re trapped in it, and we’re gonna get soaking wet, and it’s just the perfect end to this fucking night.”

Shane continues to hurry along beside him, pulling his own sweatshirt on. “You know, rain is good. It helps things grow. Without rain, we can’t eat, or–”

“Fucking FUCK, will you just stop it, with all this Pollyanna bullshit! I can’t take it anymore!” Roy bellows.

Shane stops. “Sure, if you tell me why you’re being such a wretched cunt.”

“It’s…I…”

“Come on, B, just talk to me. The sooner you ‘fess up, the sooner we can get out of the rain…” Shane teases, putting his hands on Roy’s chest.

Roy swallows, the knot stuck in his throat formed of his many acidic emotions, and it burns to take back down. He knows this isn’t a good idea, but somehow, the alcohol swirling in his bloodstream makes him feel more reckless than usual, and numbs that knot enough to let him speak. Maybe if he just says it, gets it out in the open, then it will stop having a hold on him. And they can go back to normal. The sober part of him would be screaming at himself: “Shut the fuck up, you cunt! Don’t you dare, or else I’ll personally rip off one of your fucking-”

“Well…?”

Roy recuperates his lost sensibility as his eyes look anywhere but Shane’s. “I…I might…have been a little jealous back there.”

Shane’s eyes widen. “Jealous? Jealous…of who?” He tilts his head coquettishly, decides to offer him an out. “I can teach you that Britney choreo if you want…”

Roy scoffs, irritated. “Nevermind, you fuckin twat.”

“I’m sorry!” Shane giggles, suddenly a little self-conscious. He regrets making light of the moment, wants him to keep talking, “Really, just…I’m listening. Just tell me what you mean.”

Clearing his throat and avoiding eye contact, Roy lowers his voice and says quickly, “I just…I might sort of, uh, be attracted to you.” He glances back at him, pulse racing with fear.

Shane looks up at him, tiny raindrops collecting on his eyelashes, green eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlights. “Is that all?” he asks. “Why didn’t you just say so?” He leans in, pressing his lips against Roy’s, one hand moving to the back of his neck.

For a moment, Roy is in sheer bliss, warmth radiating through him, rain be damned, as he pulls Shane closer, savoring the taste of his lips. But then the reality of the situation slams into him like a ton of bricks and he shoves the blonde backwards, flustered and panting, confusion taking over. “Why are you acting like this is simple?” he demands hoarsely.

“Isn’t it?” Shane asks, cocking his head to the side. A little laugh escapes him, and he reaches for Roy’s hand.

“I mean, it’s…it’s fucking us! How can you…this isn’t simple!” Roy insists.

“…And they say you’re the smart one,” Shane says, stepping closer. “Must be the glasses and sarcasm…you’ve got everybody fooled. Not me, though. I know those books you read are just celebrity memoirs you buy in airports. You’re really pretty dumb, obviously, or you’d know that this…is actually…very fucking simple–”

Roy is reeling, exhausted from the utter mindfuck of it all. “Will you shut the fuck up?”

Shane leans in, a challenging grin on his face. “Make me.”

There - eyeing one another up, tension rising along with the heat, warm rain pounding against his face - Roy doesn’t know what up from down is anymore. And he realizes that maybe their defining moment, the one that matters, wasn’t the one back in the club when his vision blurred with rage, the sight of Shane with that asshole, the forgotten celebrant lost in a cloud of glitter and strobe lights. Maybe this is the moment that will matter. The one that will change everything. And so he decides to throw caution to the wind just like the 20 year old he used to be would have done. All in the spirit of Pride, right?

Roy spins them around, pinning Shane to the side of the nearest building, grabbing him roughly and kissing him deeply, desperately, letting all of his pent up frustration out, everything he’s been longing for since before he knew he wanted it. He moans against Shane’s mouth, raindrops now coming faster, hitting his back, soaking through his sweatshirt.

“See? I told you,” Shane pants, cheeks flushed, “Simple.”

“We have to get out of here,” Roy states, feeling himself already losing control, needing more, hungry in a way that is causing him physical pain, and off Shane’s nod, asks, “Where’s the hotel? Where the fuck are we?”

Breathing hard, Shane asks, “Uh…I don’t…isn’t that where you were walking?”

“I was just walking, I was pissed…where were you walking?”

Shane laughs. “I was following you! Blind leading the blind, eh?”

“Fuuuuuck!” Roy turns his face to the sky, letting the rain hit him, pressing Shane harder against the building, whimpering in distress.

“Alright, alright, I’ll call an uber.” He pulls out his phone, one hand on Roy’s cheek, thumb stroking him soothingly.

Roy nuzzles the side of his face, finally relaxing a little. “You sound pretty sexy saying that.”

Shane chuckles and repeats “Ubaaah…” in an exaggerated accent. He finds the app and squeals delightedly. “Ooh, look, I love it when the cars have rainbows on them! Pride!”

“You’re a 12 year old girl,” Roy murmurs against his ear.

“Just call me Lolita.”

Roy makes a face. “Would you hurry up and get the car, asshole?”

Given how anxious and handsy Roy was in the back of the Uber, Shane isn’t surprised that once they are in the hotel room, he turns into a caged animal who’s just been unleashed - tearing at his wet clothes, throwing him onto the bed, sucking bruises into his skin, pulling his hair. It’s like he’s trying to devour Shane, body and soul.

What does surprise Shane is that he seesaws between this raw, animalistic passion, and a kind of unsettled anxiety that he’s too drunk to properly articulate. Something along the lines of “this changes everything,” and “what does this mean,” and when Shane tries to soothe his fears, by saying they don’t need to worry, let’s just enjoy tonight, live in the moment, that seems to make it worse.

“You don’t understand, you don’t understand…” he frets at one point, burying his face against Shane’s stomach, clutching his ass with both hands. Roy looks at Shane, at his best friend, and he just knows. He wants him so much, more than anything, and yet…it’s too much, it’s not just a night of fun, and Shane doesn’t get it. He’s not going to be able to just bounce back from this, go back to how it was before. He’s not like Shane. He can’t put things in neat little boxes, separate emotion from sex, love from friendship - not with him. “You don’t understand…” he repeats.

Shane understands just fine. He understands that they’ve been rolling around on the bed together for thirty minutes by now, and he’s good and ready to get fucked, and all this circular talk is starting to get annoying. But he also understands that Roy is thoroughly inebriated, probably blackout, and most likely this isn’t going to happen, (for purely…logistical reasons) and so he takes Roy’s face in his hands, kissing his swollen lips. “I do, I understand. You’re worried that things are going to change. Right?”

Roy nods, sleepy eyes falling closed as Shane strokes his hair. “Uh huh…I don’t want…I mean I do…fuck…” He digs his fingers into Shane’s waist.

The one time you have to show human emotion, aye Haylock? Shane thinks. Couldn’t just be some kind of sex robot and do your damn job. “I know.” Shane looks into his eyes, unable to stop the wave of sadness that overtakes him as Roy ruts desperately against him.

“I’ve ruined everything…haven’t I?”

Shane pulls the comforter over them, easing Roy onto his back, a firm hand on his thigh stilling his urgent movements. “Listen. Maybe tonight isn’t…you’ve had a lot to drink. I don’t want you to do something you’re gonna regret tomorrow.”

Roy is breathing hard. He wants to protest but the room is spinning and Shane’s body is warm beside him and so he just nods, slowly drinking the glass of water Shane forces on him, pounding heart slowing down as Shane curls against him, rubbing his shoulders, kissing his neck, gently playing with his fingers. He feels as if he’s been on a roller coaster with the erratic twists his emotions took him on, and now he’s left to recover. He wants to throw up, but whether that’s from the come down of drinking or Shane’s soft touch, he isn’t sure.

Shane can’t stop touching him. He realizes that there’s a very real possibility of Roy waking up in the morning with no memory of any of it. He wonders what, if anything, he should tell him. Maybe it’s better this way. Because as much as he wants this…whatever it is…he knows that Roy isn’t him. That he doesn’t have the same ability to seize the moment, let loose, and just play. That whatever turmoil he was experiencing will be magnified tenfold in the harsh light of day, without alcohol to dull the pain. The major difference being, once sober, he’ll bottle it up inside and it will just eat away at him.

Wrapping his arms around Roy’s warm, familiar body, Shane presses a cheek to his shoulder, holding back tears, making a decision then and there. He won’t burden him with the embarrassing reality of rain-soaked confessions or desperate embraces or the tangle of limbs that ultimately led nowhere. What Roy remembers, that’s the reality. What Shane remembers…that part can disappear in the whisper of the witching hour. A sacrifice to the gods of Pride. For a second, Shane doesn’t know who he hates more - himself or Roy, as he clings to him in the dark, holding on as long as he can, until he feels sleep tugging at him.

He kisses Roy, who is snoring by now, one final time, running a hand through his hair, and rolls over to the other side of the bed, shivering slightly.

The first thing Roy sees, when he manages to pry open his eyes, which feel like they are glued shut, is the array of hangover cures on the nightstand. Painkiller, gatorade, alka-seltzer. He even smells fresh coffee. He blinks, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He’s in a hotel room. It’s not his hotel room, but it looks similar. Did he hook up with someone? He’s definitely naked, all signs point to yes. Who?

That’s when he sees it. The wigs. The costumes. The makeup case open and spread out on the dresser. The…fuck fuck fuck. He’s not in a random hotel room. He’s in Courtney’s hotel room. This is bad. He sits up in a panic.

“Oh, hey, you’re up.” Shane, in a pair of the skimpiest orange briefs Roy has ever seen, and an Alaska tank top, strolls casually over to the nightstand, dropping the Alka-Seltzer into a glass of water.

“What…what am I…?” Roy’s heart pounds. He starts to have a full-on anxiety attack, looking up at Shane, sputtering, “Did we–what happened–why am I–Oh fuck–”

“Relax. Drink.” Shane shoves the glass at him. “Coffee?”

Roy nods, gulping down the alka-seltzer. He watches Shane walk over to pour him a cup of coffee, then crawl onto the bed to hand it to him, along with two advil.

Shane sits on his heels, chewing on his lip. “Better?”

Roy shifts uncomfortably, pulling the comforter tight around his waist. “Uh…” What the fuck happened last night? He tries to piece it together. He remembers the restaurant where they ate dinner, some tapas place, making fun of the way Shane began with his finger in the air, dainty as could be, and finished by shoving the delicious Spanish food directly down his throat. He remembers laughing a lot, and wine, and walking arm in arm to some bar, more drinks, a dance club, and then…Shane kissing some guy, that feeling of intense jealousy, wanting to drown his rage, dull his senses…then things got hazy. He clears his throat, voice shakier than he intends. “What…happened last night?”

Shane takes the empty coffee cup back and sets it on the nightstand. “Nothing. I mean…you drank a lot. So…the usual. That’s it.”

Roy is skeptical. “Then why the fuck am I naked in your bed?”

“Because you were naked when you passed out.”

He begins to get irritated. “Why was I naked?”

Shane shrugs.

“Courtney.”

“Don’t worry about it. I told you, nothing happened.”

Roy stares at him, eyes narrowed, a queasy feeling in his stomach. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you shouldn’t get blackout drunk so much. In your 20s, that’s partying. In your 40s, it’s just called alcoholism.”

Roy grabs him by the wrists. “What. Happened?” He has no idea why Shane is being so fucking elusive. Normally he crows about every conquest before it even happens. Normally, he’d be embellishing, laying it on thick, spinning a tall tale about their alleged drunken hook-up that made Blanche Deveraux blush.

Shane heaves a deep sigh. “It was…you were drunk. I don’t know if you even…you were in a mood, and I was harassing you to tell me why, and you said that you were attracted to me–”

Roy winces, an involuntary reaction that he immediately regrets, mostly because of the hurt look in Shane’s eyes as he continues.

“–Yeah, exactly, which I know would never have happened if you weren’t intoxicated, and I kissed you, and…” Shane hesitates, looking away.

“…and?” Roy’s mind is reeling. He doesn’t remember, and yet, there’s a lingering sense memory, as if he can taste Shane on his lips, feel their bodies pressed together. His heart races.

“And we came back here, and we made out a little, thus the nudity, and I realized that you were like, pretty much incapacitated and I’d be a sexual predator if I let things go any farther simply because of a selfish desire to live in the moment,” Shane says, words now spilling out of his mouth quickly, his voice taking on a bit of an edge as he adds pointedly, “and honestly, who knows if they even could have…”

Roy purses his lips. He’s not really in a position to protest that particular accusation. But if they didn’t sleep together, why is Shane being so…so…

Shane continues, “And then we went to sleep. So…you’re good. Virtue intact. You can you back to pretending you have no feelings, and I can go back to–”

Roy’s had enough. The expression on Shane’s beautiful face, his eyes misty. Roy can feel an instinct taking over, can feel the desire for intimacy that goes entirely against his nature. And he knows, that this moment matters more than all the others. That he needs to end this miserable dance they’ve been doing, this dynamic that’s been destroying them both while they looked the other way. So he pulls Shane closer, and whispers, “What makes you think I want to pretend?”

Shane’s heart begins to hammer in his chest. “It just seemed like…you regretted it right away and wouldn’t want to–”

Roy silences him with a kiss, forceful and slow, tongue invading Shane’s mouth. His hands wander down Shane’s body, wrapping around his waist, catching him completely off guard. After a few moments, they separate, breathless, and just look at each other, hearts pounding.

“Still drunk, huh?” Shane teases gently.

“Must be…” Roy replies, rolling him over, lips against his neck.

Shane grabs a handful of his hair, inhaling sharply as Roy finds his pulse point and sucks, hands now sliding slowly up his shirt. It doesn’t take long for Shane to realize that where last night he’d been desperate, messy, insecure…today he’s deliberate, controlled, torturously slow.

Biting down hard on his lip, Shane arches up, color rising to his cheeks. Roy has removed his shirt and now works his way down his torso, licking him, kissing him, sucking gently at last night’s bruises.

“Are you…are you sure?” Shane breathes. He’s not going to be able to handle another near miss. “Last night–”

“Forget about last night,” Roy murmurs, warm breath against Shane’s skin driving him mad. “I started this. I’m going to finish it…”

Shane simply nods, gripping Roy’s hair harder, giving himself over to the moment, letting his eyes fall closed, surprised by how easily he was giving up control. Usually he was all about manipulating the situation, being the one in charge, either overtly or by intentionally allowing himself to be objectified, putting on some kind of a show.

But right now, the way Roy’s hands glide over his skin, the way his eyes gleam with desire, Shane feels dizzy, like he’s spinning out into space, Roy’s body against his all that’s anchoring him to the physical world. He feels seen in a way that leaves him breathless, and cherished in a way that makes him open and raw.

He takes ahold of Roy’s face and kisses him deeply, tasting the plushness of his mouth, wrapping a thigh around him, heart racing. He gropes blinding for the nightstand, flinging open the drawer and pulling out the condoms and lube he’d abandoned there after last night’s disaster.

Roy glances over, slightly amused. “In a hurry, huh?” He trails a finger teasingly down Shane’s thigh.

“If you remembered last night, you’d have a bit more fucking empathy,” Shane says, fingers digging into his waist, following it up with a breathy, “…please?”

Roy flashes mischievous grin, trailing lips along Shane’s jaw, his neck, finally breathing into his ear, “Turn over.”

Shane feels a shiver run down his spine as they lock eyes. He nods, panting, flipping onto his stomach, closing his eyes, aware of nothing but the weight of Roy’s body bearing down on his, the sound of his heartbeat, the rough feel of his face where his beard is growing in. Shane reaches an arm back to wrap around his neck, turning his face to tangle their tongues together, utterly lost in the moment.

It surprises Roy, how easy it is for him to let all the worries and anxieties and fears slip away, once Shane is finally in his arms. He can feel the blonde melting against his touch, and suddenly it’s all perfectly right. Shane’s body molds to his, pushing backwards. His moans start airily, growing more and more intense. Roy holds him closer, tighter, moving faster, gripping his hips.

Shane is panting, trembling, so close now, he can practically taste it in his throat. So when Roy suddenly pulls away, he lets out an aggrieved groan of pure frustration, turning around, eyes blazing with anger.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Roy teases, dimples deep in his cheeks, “I just wanted to see your pretty face.”

Shane lays back down, hooking a leg over Roy’s shoulder, arching up, nails digging into his neck. “This is the face of a person…about to die.”

“You’re being very dramatic.”

“Ughh!”

Roy silences him with another kiss, pressing him down into the mattress. “Stop whining and maybe you’ll get what you want.”

Shane grips him tighter, knuckles turning white. “I think I liked you better drunk.”

Roy’s head drops to Shane’s shoulder, unable to suppress an evil cackle. He lifts his eyes a moment later to see Shane’s heavy-lidded, pleading eyes. He takes a finger and traces his lips, moving slowly against him. “God, you’re beautiful…”

Rolling his eyes, Shane decides to take matters into his own hands, flipping Roy onto his back and climbing on top of him, hovering over him on his hands and knees. “Would you just shut up and fuck me?” Shane asks, hands on his shoulders.

Roy grins up at him. “Only if you say please…”

Shane narrows his eyes, lowering himself down slowly, watching Roy’s face melt from a challenging smirk into blissful agony. He sighs in relief, rolling his hips, digging his fingers into Roy’s skin.

Roy begins to thrust up, slowly, hands sliding up Shane’s thighs to wrap around his waist, wondering why the fuck it’s taken him so many years to bite the bullet. Staring into Shane’s eyes, pupils dilated with lust, the feeling of his warm, flushed skin, the way he leans forward, mouth pressed hungrily to Roy’s own, sucking on his lips - it’s all better than Roy ever imagined. He moves one hand around to press Shane’s dick to his stomach.

“Ohhh, god!”

“Well, I’ve been called worse,” Roy says with a smirk, thrusting up faster.

Shane responds by biting down hard on Roy’s shoulder as his muscles start to contract, moaning into his skin, gasping for breath, grasping handfuls of Roy’s thick hair in his hands.

Roy quickly rolls him back over, taking charge again for the final ecstatic moments, driving into him harder, pinning one leg back. There’s something primal and aggressive, like he’s proving something to both of them, completely eradicating the bitter memories of the night before.

It seems to be working, by the rapturous expression on Shane’s face. Roy cradles his head with one hand, pressing their foreheads together, the other stroking his dick, earning indecipherable moans and whimpers. He brushes his lips against Shane’s jaw, stroking harder, feels him explode in his hand, muscles tightening, and finally lets himself start to come too.

Shane gulps for oxygen, hands stroking Roy’s back, arching up against him to help him through. Roy groans into his hair, lips pressed to his temple. Afterwards, Shane has an urge to say something snarky, but suddenly finds his mind a complete blank. So he sighs, inhaling the scent of Roy’s skin, listening to the sound of his heart beating wildly.

Roy curls around Shane’s back, fingers skating over his skin, both of them slick from sweat. He can feel Shane’s pulse still racing, as he tries to catch his own breath. “So…better than last night?”

Shane chuckles, lacing his fingers through Roy’s. “Yeah, I’d say it was slightly more satisfying.”

Roy lays a head on his shoulder. “I’ll take it.” He closes his eyes, breathing in, attempting to push down the nagging thoughts that tug at him, threatening to destroy the serenity of the moment. Those pesky, frustrating thoughts that he can’t shake. What now? Where do we go from here? Was this just a one-time thing? That queasy feeling is returning, accompanied by the all-too-familiar self loathing. Why can’t he just enjoy things as they come? His stomach churns, when suddenly he’s shaken out of these spiraling thoughts, surprised by the next words out of Shane’s mouth.

“Think you might want to do it again sometime?”

He lifts his head to look into Shane’s eyes, propping himself up on his elbow, trying to suppress a smile as he teases, “What happened to living in the moment?”

Shane pauses before replying softly, “I guess I’m feeling greedy.” He holds Roy’s gaze, bringing his fingers to his lips. There was a point last night, where he was fairly certain that this was just going to be sex. And he’d been okay with it, then. But somehow, now, in this moment, he knows that he needs more. And so he looks at Roy, eyes burning, heart in his throat, as he says, “I guess I want more moments.”

Roy smiles, taking Shane’s face in his hands, dimples deep in his cheeks. “You can have them all,” he replies.

#fic challenge #bitney #courtney act #bianca del rio #smut #angst #fluff #veronica #canon compliant #one single moment #tw slurs #rpdr fanfiction #submission #tw heavy drinking

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